


The Night The Briarwoods Attacked

by DaydreamingDuma



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Betrayal, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone loves torturing Percy so I’ll try and lay off as much as possible, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Percival "Percy" de Rolo III Angst, Percival’s List, Percy’s List Centric, Physical Abuse, Seperation, Warning: Briarwoods, Warning: Ripley, de Rolo family - Freeform, only a little
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamingDuma/pseuds/DaydreamingDuma
Summary: Lord de Rolo. Lady de Rolo. Julius. Vesper. Whitney. Oliver. Ludwig. Cassandra?The names that lost their lives... the night that the Briarwoods attacked.Lord Briarwood. Lady Briarwood. Ripley. Anders. Stonefell.The names that earned their place on The List... the night that the Briarwoods attacked.While many are familiar with the story of Percival’s family and what happened to them, the story of the Four Murderers and the Traitor working behind the scenes is one relatively unknown.
Relationships: Anders & Anna Ripley, Anders & Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Delilah Briarwood/Sylas Briarwood, Frederick de Rolo/Johanna de Rolo, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Anna Ripley, Percival & His List
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Meet The Briarwoods

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Just a note to say that the story will not be focusing entirely on the torture side of Percy’s week of despair but it will be featured. 
> 
> This will throw more of an insight into the relationship between the de Rolos and the Briarwoods and the relationships between the characters on the List because there’s not much of that about. Expect more scenes between Ripley, Anders and Stonefell.
> 
> And...Enjoy? If you can...

Whitestone was something of a mystery to Tal’Dorei. It was there on the map, the castle on the hill sketched in miniature detail, but whenever anyone during the council meetings deemed it necessary to tap on the name with something of an inquisitive query, the answer was usually a shrug of the shoulders, a vague noise of indifference, or just plain silence. Sometime, many decades ago, Whitestone was simply a quiet city town that focused on trade, offered very little in the ways of military support and rarely included themselves in the affairs of Tal’Dorei politics so not much was known about it other than it was some way up north, nestled in a valley between the Alabaster Sierras and was surrounded by the Parchwood.

There were varying theories among the people of the north and east who were actually aware of Whitestone’s prosperity as to why they were so private and politically neutral. Some said that they were protective of their ‘holy ground’, which is what some thought the land around Whitestone was due to the fabled existence of a Sun Tree in the centre of the city, planted by Pelor himself. Others of a more cynical nature claimed that the Whitestonians were being cautious for the sake of their natural resource: the stone itself from the mountains that their city was built on.

And others simply said that the people of Whitestone were cowards and couldn’t be bothered to help out the rest of Tal’Dorei.

It was simply the strange city off the beaten track, far out on the fringes of the continent where it was of no concern to the stronger, ‘more important’ cities such as Emon or Westruun. If the situation could be likened to a family gathering, Whitestone was the distant, almost estranged cousin that didn’t draw attention to itself, keeping quiet in the corner while the rest of the family argued or laughed or dealt with problems that they - and only they - could handle. You could perhaps push a drink or a bowl of something to eat in their direction and you might get a grateful nod but that was as far as it went. 

Which is why no-one seemed to notice when Whitestone suffered one of the most brutal attacks that could befall any city: removing it’s head of state.

In relation to the rest of Exandria, it was a silent takeover.

For Whitestone, the night the Briarwoods attacked was anything BUT silent.

* * *

When the Briarwoods first arrived, Julius had been summoned from his bedroom. Vesper has been called in from the balcony. Percival was brought from the Library. Whitney was found in the Music Room. Oliver from Anders’ study. Ludwig from the Gallery. Cassandra was in the Playroom. One by one they had congregated at the top of the staircase and descended together, Vesper leading the way as they followed the stone stairs round from the second floor to the ground, before filing into the Morning Room in single file and lining up perfectly, as they had been taught, in age order.

”Ah, at last,” their father, tall and dark-haired, said and he waved a hand towards them, addressing his guests, “Apologies for the tardiness, my lord and lady, but allow me to present our children.”

Lord Frederick and Lady Johanna de Rolo were stood behind one of the settees and facing the regal couple sat on the opposite lounge who had turned towards the door and were smiling warmly at the small group that had entered. 

”What an attractive brood!” said the visiting honey-voiced lady, a beautiful and austere woman with auburn hair, immaculate from head to toe, “Seven children, Sylas, can you imagine?” She squeezed the arm of her husband, a pale skinned man with deep eyes.

”Our sincerest congratulations, Lord and Lady de Rolo,” he seemed to agree, smiling a little as he cast his gaze along the line, making sure eye contact was made with each one of them. More than one of them felt a chill. Lord Briarwood’s voice was deep and strangely penetrating, giving off a kind of reverb in their heads.

”Thank you,” beamed their mother, her gentle eyes creasing in pleasure, “We are exceptionally proud of them.” Then she pushed her light brown hair out of her face and made the formal introductions. “Everyone, this is Lord Sylas and Lady Delilah Briarwood from Wildmount. Lord and Lady Briarwood, this is our eldest, Julius. Then there is Vesper, Percival, Whitney, Oliver, Ludwig and Cassandra, our youngest.”

Each of them bowed or curtsied as their names were given and Julius stepped forward.

”How do you do, Lord and Lady Briarwood. Welcome to Whitestone,” he greeted politely, bowed again, and stepped back into line. It was the usual formality that they had grown up practicing since they were old enough to stand and walk when being introduced to guests. Most of their visitors were from Wildmount, of course, seeing as Whitestone was politically separate from the rest of their own continent and received very few Tal’Dorei nobles.

The Briarwoods, natives of Wildmount, seemed to like this show and their smiles broadened.

”Thank you, children,” Lady Delilah said, her voice deeper and her words more precise. Julius and Vesper gave no visual indication that they had tensed at being called children when they were 20 and 19 respectively.

”Lord and Lady Briarwood will be staying with us a few days,” Lord de Rolo began to explain, “so I’ll expect you all to be very friendly and welcoming?”

”Yes, Father,” replied Julius. As the oldest, he was expected to speak for the group for certain questions.

”And there will be no ill behaviour,” Lord de Rolo continued, raising one strong dark eyebrow, “no trouble-making for our guests.”

”No, Father,” Percival spoke up with a subtle sigh. As he was not 18 yet, he still had to speak for the younger siblings when the matter of bad behaviour was brought up as he was still counted as one of them. He couldn’t wait until he was counted as being an older one like Julius and Vesper, who were allowed to drink a little wine at meal times.

”Best behaviour as you’ve been known to display?” Lady de Rolo then asked.

”Yes, Mother,” the de Rolo children chorused together.

* * *

Once they were dismissed, having all been gushed over by the Briarwoods, they discretely retreated back upstairs and into the Playroom which had once served as the official Nursery to each child. Unless their mother and father had the energy to produce any more baby brothers and sisters, it was unlikely it would be used as a nursery again until they began having children themselves.

”A new lord and lady visiting Whitestone?” said Vesper, sitting down in the corner armchair that their mother sat in to nurse her babies, “This is exciting.”

”Don’t know why Dwendalian nobles would want to come here instead of Emon or something,” said Oliver, perching on the arm next to her (which their mother hated them to do), “I thought Whitestone was, you know, off the map. At least, that’s what the servants say.”

Oliver’s twin, Whitney, tutted and shook her head as she wandered over toward the enormous dollhouse. “Shouldn’t go around listening to gossiping servants, Olly.”

”Servants are fun! If you’re super nice to them, they sneak you treats from the kitchens!” laughed Oliver, “Not MY fault that you’re all unlikeable brats.”

”Forget the servants,” Julius spoke up. He was leaning against the wall and pretending he hadn’t noticed Ludwig trying to copy him. “Vesper’s right, this IS exciting. We haven’t had _new_ nobles come to Whitestone for years - only the regulars. If more new ones visit, it might encourage Mother and Father to think about rejoining Whitestone to the rest of Tal’Dorei again.”

”I don’t even know which of our forebears began to draw Whitestone away from Emon in the first place,” Vesper signed, pulling her youngest sister, Cassandra, into her lap so that she could fix her hair.

At that, Percival piped up from the stool by the covered fireplace, “It was supposedly around the time of Melanie de Rolo. It’s suggested that the apparent ‘necromancy’ scandal had a part in it. Then in later years, the split from Tal’Dorei was finalised to help Whitestone economy recover from that really bad winter that hit the north some decades ago and it never rejoined.”

”Of course YOU would know, Mr Know-it-all,” Vesper sighed with a fond smile (for she had a soft spot for her brainy brother and his little pair of glasses that he was constantly pushing up his nose), plaiting a section of Cassandra’s dark locks back into place. Only she, Cassandra and Percival had their father’s rich chocolate hair. The rest had their mother’s lighter brown colour.

”Lady Briarwood was very pretty!” Ludwig said, completely changing the conversation.

”So was Lord Briarwood,” Whitney sighed dreamily, picking up one of the dolls from the dollhouse and stroking its head. “By that I mean, he was handsome. Do you suppose Lord and Lady Briarwood have any children that might make a good marriage?”

Vesper let out a loud laugh. “Whitney! You tell Oliver not to go listening to servants and yet here you are saying things like that which have no doubt come from some chattering handmaid.”

Whitney shrugged. “...Well, that’s what _we’re_ here for, aren’t we? We younger siblings? To make alliances by making good marriages. I mean, between you and Julius, Whitestone has it’s future leading Lord and Lady already. What are the rest of us supposed to do?”

”Not true. There are plenty of other positions,” Julius pointed out, “There are the First, Second and Third Houses, for example.”

”Aw...” Cassandra pouted, “That means they’ll go to Percy, Whitney and Olly. What are Ludwig and me going to do?”

Vesper thought hurriedly and then tapped Cassandra’s head playfully. “There’s the Grey Hunt! One of you could do that or, you know, take a council or military position or something?”

”Military position?” Oliver snorted, “Ha! _What_ military? The Pale Guard?”

”And let’s be real,” Whitney added with a chuckle, “Percy isn’t going to have a House, is he? He’ll live in his workshop all day and make funny little gadgets and clocks and become an eccentric toy-maker or something.”

”No,” protested Percival, swivelling on the stool, “not necessarily!”

”Or you’ll be in charge of the Library and become some creepy archivist or something equally as dull,” Whitney went on chuckling, flashing mischievous eyes, “Either way, a fancy House or prestigious title is going to be utterly wasted on you!”

”Percy can be the one that we marry off for a family alliance,” Oliver joined in on the joke.

”In which case,” Julius smiled at Percival’s indignant face while everyone else began to laugh, “may the Dawnfather show kindness and bless that poor long-suffering woman, whomever she may be.”


	2. A Series Of Studies

Frederick de Rolo and Johanna Klossowski were a formidable couple, the successful union of two long lines of noble blood, both of which were known for particular traits. Klossowskis were passionate in love and war and protective of family, friends and their homes while the de Rolos were intelligent, proud and fierce, not ones to give in and surrender unless absolutely necessary. This combination could only cause distant relatives on both sides to wonder and discretely fear what the produced offspring would become.

The Briarwoods, prior to arriving at Whitestone with their spun tale, had tried to do as much research into the city and it’s ruling family as was possible and upon learning of the potential might of the two bloodlines, it had caused a little apprehension. Frederick was a Fighter and a Bard, able to inspire and influence just as well as he was able to duel wield his rapiers. Johanna was a Paladin and fought with the blessing of the Dawnfather at her back, they said. Both would be difficult to take down unless stealth and trickery were used. Their chance came courtesy of their would-be victims.

* * *

The temptation to seize the opportunity and take the castle was almost too much to bear for Sylas but, late at night when he and his wife stood at the window overlooking the city, he listened to Delilah’s encouraging words about patience and timing. They were still relatively new and she was aware that the castle guards still watched them closely, their hands tensing ever so slightly when they approached one of the de Rolo family. It was also clear that the castle staff had yet to trust their own party of ‘guards’ who they had hired on the way from Wildmount to Tal’Dorei. Not that it wasn’t understandable; Kerrion Stonefell, the leader of his mercenaries, was hardly the friendliest man to look at and they hardly did themselves any favours by standing about by their carriage and looking grim in the doorways.

No, the Briarwoods had to wait until they were well known enough so that the de Rolo guards might become less untrusting and this patient waiting gave the visitors time to get to know the family.

It was clear that Frederick and Johanna completely adored their children though it was noted that they rarely showed it in the company of others but, then again, that was simply a product of being noble-born; affection was kept private - sometimes even from those you were affectionate toward. Still, you could tell by the way that Lady Johanna squeezed one of her children’s hands or the way Lord Frederick nodded his head and smiled warmly whenever one of his children spoke that they loved their offspring and the children, more importantly, were aware of this fact.

Lord Frederick himself was, to look at, a stern man, his dark de Rolo brows emphasising a frown and intensifying a glare to unnerving effectiveness. He could make another man buckle under that kind of gaze and it was hard to imagine any of the children even thinking about misbehaving while their father was watching. But underneath the de Rolo expression there existed a man who was proud of his family and seemed to fawn over his wife, his eyes warming whenever she walked into the room or whenever he made her laugh or whenever her hand came to rest on his arm.

Lady Johanna had evidently come from a very aristocratic background and took no nonsense yet seemed to be full of hard-earned experience and wisdom that seemed out of place on a noble like her. She was the sort who would wait quietly during a heated conversation, almost like she was waiting until she’d worked out every weak point in her intended victim and then would deal one single killing blow to shut down the entire conversation. It was a spectacle to watch according to those lucky enough to witness it but there weren’t many who could say they’d had the nerves to try and argue with Lord and Lady de Rolo.

As for the children, the Briarwoods took great pleasure in watching them the most. They noticed that they didn’t seem to engage in overly affectionate physical contact with one another. Certainly, they might sit next to each other or in one another‘s laps and hold hands and play with each other’s hair and clasp each other by the arm or the shoulder but there was very little hugging. And yet they still seemed quite close, some more than others.

Julius, the oldest, was a straight forward big brother. He was an expert in winding up his younger siblings, joining in on their play fights, playing a role in some prank, but at the same time he seemed extraordinarily protective, carefully watching one of the younger ones if they were climbing somewhere high or were at risk of injury in some other form. Then, as soon as injury was made, he was the first at their side to pick them up and attempt to fix the problem. When not with his siblings, Julius was often found at his father’s side as Lord de Rolo’s loyal shadow, learning what he could about ruling a city.

Working as his partner in the task of learning how to rule and in caring for the youngsters was Vesper who was more attentive to their more emotional needs. Vesper seemed to know her siblings as well as she knew herself and was able to tell immediately when one of them wasn’t feeling right by the way they spoke, by the way they played and by the way they read (each of the seven de Rolo children had a day in the week where they read to the family out loud in the evenings before bed). So when one wasn’t in the right frame of mind, Vesper would take them somewhere quiet and listen to what was on their minds. That was, of course, when she wasn’t sat in meetings and dealing with matters concerning the city with Julius and her parents.

Next was Percival and he, of all of the children, was the hardest to study because a lot of the time, neither Lord or Lady Briarwood could seem to find him. They were told a little later that Percival had his very own workshop where he liked to tinker and make things and that was where he hid. In a fascinating way, the Briarwoods first got to know him through the things he’d made around the castle before they were able to watch him with his family. You could tell he was one of the middle children, often holding his tongue and sometimes being forgotten but he had a sharp and inquisitive look about him that suggested that an active brain was hard at work forming clever ideas and witty comebacks. He’d inherited his father’s looks and his mother’s wit and tact, it seemed.

Then there were the twins, Whitney (the slightly older one) and Oliver (a few minutes younger) who, if not raised in a castle with the proper etiquette that was drummed into a noble child, would likely have been considered wild troublemakers. They were forever arguing with one another, sometimes just for the fun of arguing, and would relentlessly tease the likes of Percival or Ludwig if they had nothing better to do but it was all in jest and it was clear that they’d sooner use their skills to defend a sibling rather than attack one - unless a good laugh could be made of the situation. It was also noticeable that it was rare for one of them to not know where the other one was and what they were doing wherever they were in the castle. The twins were not attached at the hip physically but they certainly seemed to be mentally. Oliver was more vocal while Whitney liked to rough and tumble so, together, they’d likely take on an opponent in a battle of words AND fists.

Little Ludwig had Percival’s ability to fade into the background and wait until he was noticed before he made any attempt to draw attention to himself although he didn’t have the sharp wit that his brother and mother had. He seemed to try and imitate Julius and Vesper the most when it came to behaviour and disposition and it was clear he obviously idolised Percival for the things he could make. Out of all of them, however, Ludwig was by far the quietest and he preferred watching the others for a bit before joining in their games or choosing to get out his easel and paint. Sensitive and peaceful, Ludwig would be the last of the children to get involved in a big argument, that much was evident.

Last but not least there was Cassandra, the ‘baby’ of the family and clearly the most spoilt as a result. She had all her brothers’ and sisters’ hand-me-downs as well as brand new things. Not that she was bratty or selfish with her belongings (her parents were far too sensible to allow that to happen) but she could be slightly precocious at times and she seemed to desperately try and act older than her age, almost able to take more care of Ludwig than Ludwig could take care of her. She was definitely impressionable, however, and she was forever admiring things that her older siblings had done. One of her favourite toys was a little wind-up bird that her brother had made for her and she spent hours winding it up and letting it race around the floor, flapping it’s wings and singing out a merry tune.

The children’s schedules appeared to be unique for each individual, meaning that they rarely had activities with each other. While Julius was learning sword play, Vesper was having writing lessons and while Ludwig was learning etiquette, Cassandra was practicing her posture. Whitney might be learning and reciting poetry while Oliver was being taught how to dance and when Julius finished his sword fighting, Percival might be in a history lesson or leaving to practice hunting and horse riding.

Only playtime was shared and that was when they’d all tear off into the gardens or into the Playroom with a frazzled childminder running after them to keep an eye. Meal times and evenings were free for the family to sit around together to talk and read books and recall what they had learned that day and some days they were allowed time off lessons altogether. That being said, on those days it seemed common for Percival to go off to mess around in his workshop or take extra lessons with Professor Anders.

Speaking of Anders...

Professor Anders was the personal tutor to the de Rolo children and he had been a constant face during their growth and it came as a great and very pleasant surprise to the Briarwoods when the professor came and knocked on their door one night, his gaunt face looking expectant and excited. It soon came to light that the Briarwoods had learnt of Whitestone through the whispered messages passed from an informant to the cult of Vecna and the informant had been none other than Anders himself. He couldn’t be more pleased that fellow followers of the Undying King had heard his call and had finally come to the city. After that, Anders and the Briarwoods met on a nightly basis to discuss their plans and how to deal with the de Rolo family with Kerrion Stonefell waiting outside the door to keep an eye out. Sylas and Delilah hadn’t been expected to procure an ally on the inside quite so soon but they were glad that Anders clearly thought that he had more potential than being a teacher to seven prissy noble-born teenagers.

They agreed that they would continue to visit Whitestone regularly in order to gain the trust of the family while Professor Anders would arrange to have more of Kerrion’s men secretly installed within the castle grounds so they could learn the ways of the castle guards and to try and encourage friendship with Lord and Lady Briarwood to the de Rolos. Filled with a sense of importance and worth, Anders took pride in having so much responsibility put on him. His haughtiness, however, took a little wobble when...

“The next time we come,” the Briarwoods had said on the eve of one of their many departures over the course of the month, “We shall have our companion with us.” 

“Companion?” Anders has replied, “From Port Demali, I presume?”

“That is where we met, yes,” Delilah nodded, “But we have travelled together for a long time though we have yet to orchestrate any formal introductions with the family.”

“Where is this companion of yours?” 

The Briarwoods smiled. “You know that every time we leave, we’ve never actually been returning to Wildmount, don’t you?”

“I gathered as much,” Anders said, “Not when the empire wants you both dead. Well...” He vaguely gestured at Sylas. “...Permanently dead.”

“We have other accomplices on the outskirts of the city,” Delilah went on explaining, “and we have been staying secretly with them. That is where our companion is. Where more academic research on the grounds of Whitestone can happen.”

Professor Anders had stiffened. He knew of Stonefell and recognised his value in being a bodyguard and an extra pair of fighting hands. It even made sense to have others in the city itself to help the insurgence, there was no denying that. But brining in another academic ally almost seemed insulting to someone like Anders; _he_ was the academic ally. Was this trusted companion of theirs set to replace him? Was he to be demoted so soon before the take-over had even happened? His worries were appeased though when he learnt that this companion was not a follower of Vecna. That meant, Anders had smiled wickedly to himself, he was more important to the cause and that was all that mattered.

”So your companion, then,” he had said, “They are only here for scientific reasons?”

”Correct. In fact, I’d say she’s very much like one of your students, wouldn’t you agree, Sylas?”

”Aye,” Sylas grinned, revealing a pair of sharp fangs, “she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story reference (unconfirmed canon ages):
> 
> Julius - 20 years old  
> Vesper - 19 years old  
> Percival - 17 years old  
> Whitney - 15 years old  
> Oliver - 15 years old  
> Ludwig- 14 years old  
> Cassandra - 13 years old


	3. Enter The Doctor

To show their kindness to their long time friends, Lord Frederick and Lady Johanna decided to throw a feast for the Briarwoods. A quiet affair, they had promised, with only the family and the guests of honour present. That afternoon, however, saw the visiting Lord and Lady approach their hosts while they were in Frederick’s study, little Cassandra perched on her mother’s knee although she was getting far too big for that sort of thing, really.

She looked up excitedly at the beautiful couple gliding in through the doors that the castle guards held open for them.

“Lord and Lady Briarwood!” Lord de Rolo greeted with a welcoming smile, the sort that made his eyes crease. “My wife and I have just finished some business. How can we help?”

“Our apologies for the interruption,” Delilah said with a curtsy, “but we neglected to inform you of an additional guest tonight.”

Cassandra hoped it wasn’t another man like Kerrion Stonefell, the captain of the band of guards that accompanied the Briarwoods. He was a sour faced individual that barely took notice of her and her siblings unless it was with a sneer. She had tried to convince herself that he could only be that way because he was on duty and had to look stern and scary to dissuade anyone possibly attacking the Briarwoods. Perhaps, off duty, he was a lovely man who had a family of his own with lots of small children that he’d bounce on his knee and laugh with.

Her mother and father looked at one another in confusion before turning curiously to the Briarwoods and getting to their feet. Cassandra hopped off her mother’s lap and stood meekly behind her chair as Lady Delilah waved a graceful hand to the door and another person stepped inside.

She was a woman with a stern face and very quick, calculating eyes and as she came to stand beside the Briarwoods, it was abundantly clear that she was not of noble birth given that her shoulders weren’t pinned back as far and her chin wasn’t quite high enough for a first initial introduction. It looked as though she had only recently come from outside seeing as she was still dressed in a traveller’s coat and her black hair, which was partly up and partly down, had the tell-tale signs of being buffeted by the wind. Despite this, Cassandra thought that, perhaps underneath the discomfort, she could pass as quite a handsome woman.

What amused her was the fact that the way she looked about the room was very much like her brother Percival, looking for something in a new environment that might interest him should conversation turn boring.

“Lord and Lady de Rolo,” Sylas said, “may we introduce our travelling companion from Wildmount, Doctor Anna Ripley. She has been quite instrumental in the technological advancement of the Dwendalian Empire and is a dear friend to us.”

Technology?

 _Yes,_ thought Cassandra, _she was very much like their dear Percy._

“A pleasure, Dr Ripley,” Frederick bowed, his initial hesitation now overcome. “You are very welcome to our castle.”

“Thank you,” Ripley nodded her head, not really bowing back, “It’s... lovely.” Her voice was stiff, like she was trying to put too much effort into being as formal as possible when she clearly wanted to be somewhere else. Cassandra felt sorry for her; she had been in THAT position many times.

“Well,” Johanna said briskly, clasping her neat hands in front of her bodice, “you are welcome to join us for dinner tonight. There will be more than enough.”

Delilah looked delighted. “Such kind hospitality. I look forward to making it up to you, my Lord and Lady.”

“Oh, I believe we are acquainted enough to use our first names,” Johanna smiled, “Please, it is our pleasure and it will be good for the children.”

“Yes, Anna, they have seven children,” Delilah said to her side, her eyes descending on little Cassandra for a moment. Ripley hardly looked excited by that but she feigned a polite interest as Lady Briarwood looked away from Cassandra to Johanna, her mother. “The eldest is... how old?”

“Julius is in his 20th year. Our youngest,” Johanna rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “has not long reached 13.”

Delilah returned to Cassandra and smiled with a strange new enthusiasm. “One would never have guessed it though. She looks and behaves so much older than her years.”

Cassandra felt her parents’ silent prompts and obediently walked out from behind the chair to present a beautiful curtsy, lifting her velvet and lace skirt. “Thank you, Lady Briarwood.”

“Anna, this is Cassandra de Rolo,” Sylas announced, “We hadn’t properly introduced you.”

Anna discretely sighed and looked over the young girl, not seeing anything particularly note-worthy and not really having much interest in formalities in order to appreciate the perfect curtsy she had been presented with. She nevertheless smiled and nodded her head again.

“Charmed.”

“Cassandra,” Fredrick said, clearing his throat, “would you be good enough to take these to Professor Anders, please?” He took up a couple of books from his desk and handed them to his daughter.

“Yes, Papa,” Cassandra replied, taking the books and not noticing the looks on the guests’ faces as Anders’ name was mentioned. The young de Rolo knew that it would usually be a servant to take the books but she was sharp enough to recognise that this was a way for her to be politely dismissed from the room.

Books in hand, she bowed to Lord and Lady Briarwood and to Doctor Ripley and left, eager to be away from how stuffy her father’s study seemed to suddenly feel.

She had only to go a little way down the corridors and turn a corner before she was approaching Professor Anders’ study.

He opened the door a few seconds after hearing a _tap tap tap_.

“Young Lady Cassandra,” he greeted with surprise and a smile, “Hello.”

”Hello, Professor!” Cassandra began briskly before she caught sight of a familiar face hovering behind the older man. “Oh, hello Percy! You’re not having MORE lessons, are you?”

”No,” Percy answered, hoisting a big encyclopaedia up in front of his chest, “I came to get this and I was talking to the Professor about something I’m working on.”

It was no secret that, of all the de Rolo siblings, Percival and Anders had a special relationship, one that had come about after Percy had proven that he was on an intellectual par with his teacher and Anders, being who he was, was only too eager to push that intellect as far as it would go. He often had private lessons with Percival so, he said, he could prevent the young lad from letting his brilliant mind grow lazy.

Cassandra knew there was no way that Percy would ever let his head grow lazy but clearly the Professor wanted to be safe than sorry.

Remembering why she was there, Cassandra presented the books.

“These are from Father. Lord and Lady Briarwood have come with a friend of theirs and they were talking in Father’s study.”

Professor Anders gratefully took the books but a curious eye flashed to Cassandra’s face.

“Friend of the Briarwoods?” he repeated.

“Dr Anna Ripley, I think they said her name was,” Cassandra nodded and then smirked at her big brother, “Did you hear that, Percy? A doctor! She’ll be joining us for dinner tonight so she’ll probably sit by you.”

Percival did look interested and he adjusted his glasses as he moved around Anders in the doorway. “I look forward to it.”

“Will you be at dinner, Professor?” Cassandra asked politely, moving aside so her brother could exit into the hallway.

Anders looked somewhat distracted, a frown momentarily appearing on his face before he shook it away.

“...Hmm? Uh, no. No, I have a lot to do tonight so I’ll be taking tea in my study,” Anders told her truthfully.

“Oh, don’t you want to meet the doctor? She didn’t say much when I met her but I’ll bet she knows a lot. The three of you could have a wonderfully boring conversation.”

“Cass!” Percival hissed under his breath, “That’s rude!”

“Sorry, Professor,” Cassandra blushed and curtsied, “Anyway, are you coming now, Percy?”

“Yes. Goodbye Professor. Thank you for the book and the discussion,” Percival said, trying to manoeuvre the encyclopaedia into one hand so he could wrap the other around his sister.

Professor Anders seemed to brighten up at that and a wide smile spread over his ageing features.

“Anytime, Master Percy. You know it is always a pleasure talking with you.”

“Thank you!” And Percival and Cassandra turned to walk away along the corridor towards their own quarters, leaving Anders in the doorway of his study looking thoughtful.

* * *

An hour had passed and Anders was still contemplating things in his study, sat at the table where he taught the children arithmetic and algebra and all sorts when there was a short sharp tap on his door and it opened without his consent given.

He didn’t even look towards his unannounced visitor.

“Well?” he huffed quietly once the door was closed. “You took a precious amount of time out there. The castle guards get suspicious and protective easily, you know. Surprised you were allowed in at all, let alone be shown to the Lord’s study.”

“I have my ways just as you have yours,” the woman huffed back in the same tone of voice, looking around the room with more interest and enthusiasm than she had with Lord de Rolo’s study. “And I’m aware that I was a little later than intended but, in my defence, there’s a lot of wild area outside Whitestone and Kerrion’s cutthroats were hardly the most enthusiastic about studying the rock.”

“But you agree with me, yes?” Anders turned to Ripley with a keen eye, “The whitestone rock will be useful.”

“I’ve told the Briarwoods such,” Ripley responded, her fingers running along one of the bookshelves as she read the spines. “All we need to know is the layout of the castle and what - supposedly - lies beneath.” A cruel eye darted in the Professor’s direction.

Anders grit his teeth and folded his arms. “And I’ve already told Sylas and Delilah that I know nothing of the castle itself. I am only a tutor! I was employed by Lord and Lady de Rolo to educate their precious offspring and that is it. There are certain areas of this castle that I am not permitted to go.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” sighed Ripley in exasperation, dramatically turning so that her hair whipped over her shoulder as she sank into another chair at the table, “We’ve heard this before, Anders. So, out of curiosity, who _does_ have free rein over the castle?”

“Well, the ‘royal’ family, obviously. Even Cassandra can, technically, wander about where I am not allowed.”

“What about servants and guards?”

“There are guards to the entrances of the castle wings and servants tend to keep to their allotted parts. There are, however, private family rooms that none will enter unless given permission by the Lord or Lady.”

Ripley drummed her fingers against the surface of the table thoughtfully. “Talking to one of the family, then, will be the most productive way of finding our way to the subterranean levels. If, indeed, you are still certain that what the Briarwoods want is actually here.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Anders snapped, “There’s a Sun Tree growing in the city centre, for crying out loud, and there are arcane ley lines that converge here which is a clear indication of an old temple somewhere close by, ready for Vecna. I have done the research and I am certain. Excavators were working to expand the de Rolo family crypt several years ago until they were ordered to stop though no-one else is sure why and no further progress was made - which strikes me as suspicious. I have no other way of knowing how to get access to the crypt and the excavation tunnels, though, for a proper look. I’ve explained this before.”

Ripley smirked and the tip of her tongue briefly stuck out to moisten her lips. “Then on your head be it, Anders. I believe Sylas said we take the castle tonight. Make yourself useful and keep out of the way, would you?”

Anders inhaled deeply and curled his fingers over his knuckles.

“...Yes,” he murmured cautiously, “...Just... one thing?”

“What?”

Anders cleared his throat and swallowed, leaning over closer towards Ripley as his voice lowered.

“Is the whole family to be killed?”

“As far as I know,” replied Ripley, taking note of Anders’ sudden change in behaviour, “Delilah expressed some sort of interest in keeping one, maybe the youngest, as a trophy or a sort of mask to make the rest of the city behave themselves or to make a statement. Being so young, she’s more manageable and mouldable, I guess.” She scratched her jawline with her fingernail. “And more of a final victory over the de Rolos, perhaps.”

“....And the rest of the brood will be slaughtered?”

Ripley gazed for a long time into Anders’ eyes and her smirk grew into a proper smile as she began to work things out. Anders mentally cursed her intellect.

”...Why?” she breathed, a certain degree of excitement in her voice, “Who would you have us spare?”

“Well, no,” Anders coughed and tried to look nonchalant, “it’s not really a personal request but...” He cleared his throat again. “...Percival. He has a phenomenal mind. Quite creative and intelligent and very quick to learn and take in new information. You ought to see his workshop and his journals and his drawings and plans...”

“A prodigy then,” Ripley interrupted, her delight morphing into amusement at this point, “Is that what you’re saying?”

“All I’m saying is that perhaps don’t kill him straight away,” Anders told her and then added, a bit too quickly, “Not for me, of course! I couldn’t care less what happens to him but... He might be useful for the Briarwoods’ plans. He might be useful for _you._ ”

Ripley let her eyes roll and she lay back in her chair with complete confidence. “I doubt I need a snivelling assistant to accomplish my goals, Anders.”

Anders was still leaning forward, cautiously keeping his voice low and his eyes frequently darting towards the door, as if anticipating that one of the de Rolos might be eavesdropping in on their conversation. After a moment, he rose from the table and headed for his desk, aware that Ripley’s cold gaze was following him, probably still with the same cold amusement that she liked to wear so frequently. Diving into one of his drawers, Anders pulled out a small leather sketchbook that he had kept back after Percival’s visit to his study. Percival probably wasn’t yet aware he’d left it there and would certainly come by at some point to pick it up.

”...Look,” he murmured, carefully placing the book down on the table in front of Ripley, “He was in here today to talk about things he was inventing. Some of these are... actually a bit beyond me. But perhaps you might be able to understand?”

Ripley arched an eyebrow and waited until Anders had sat himself back down. She then glanced at the book with little interest, sighed, then scooped it up in both hands, taking a brief second to admire the leatherwork on the front before flipping it open.

The Professor watched her intently. He was no fan of Dr Anna Ripley but he did have a degree of fascination with her, especially when she was engrossed in something, and as she slowly turned the thick parchment pages, he watched the expression on her face begin to change, growing from mild amusement to keen interest and then stern, rigid attention. She straightened up and leant over the book, lost to the world as she went forward and back in the book, tracing sketches with one spry finger and her mouth moving silently as she read the neat pencil notes and measurements and calculations that were dotted throughout.

It was eerie how she reminded him of Percival; when the boy was engrossed in something, he also was lost to the world.

Finally, Ripley sat back but kept the book clasped in her hands, returning to the first page as her face resumed it’s usual cold expression.

Neither of them spoke for a minute or more until Ripley drew in a deep breath.

“...My word.”

“You see?”

Ripley closed the book slowly and, rather than return it to Anders, immediately tucked it into her coat. “I am only sorry I have had to wait so long to meet this little genius. Now the prospect of having a meal with the family is actually something I look forward to and not just for the post-dinner entertainment that has been promised.”

Anders leant his elbows on the table and dropped his voice even more. “Then you see the sense in perhaps keeping him around a little while? If anyone can milk his brain for his knowledge-.”

“It’s me.” Anna Ripley grinned like a fox and patted the pocket where the sketchbook rested. “Yes, I will mention this to Sylas and Delilah and they will have to tell Kerrion not to have _too_ much fun with the children when the time comes.” 


	4. Prelude To Disaster

Tapping his foot impatiently and shaking his curly brown locks from his face, Julius sighed again and checked down the corridor for the eleventh time. Vesper was taking an age and he knew for a fact that she’d finished her music lesson fifteen minutes ago. Everyone else had finished their lessons and they were planning on going to go for a horse ride together and take it in turns to fly their raptors that afternoon but not if his slow sister took much longer putting her cello away. They each had their own instrument to play in the hopes that one day, once they had mastered them, they could all play together with their father. He was a skilled drummer and he and their mother had beautiful singing voices.

Cassandra was still trying to get the hang of the violin, Ludwig could tinkle out ditty after ditty on the glockenspiel, Oliver was almost perfect on the lute, Whitney could show off a song or two on the flute and Percival’s nimble fingers were incredible on the piano which was a relatively new instrument in Exandria. As for Vesper, she was a skilled cello player and she could harmonise quite well with Julius and his harp but the cello, evidently, did seem to take a while to maintain and put away properly.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Vesper apologised as she came running (not at all behaviour befitting a noble man or woman) around the corner and up to her brother.

Julius rolled his eyes and turned to continue walking as his sister fell into step beside him.

“Mister Bartolomeo had you playing those chords again, did he?” he asked.

“They’re hard,” replied Vesper with a sigh, rubbing her fingertips, “but apparently I need to learn them if I ever want to play Grandmama’s favourite piece.”

“Well, if you ask me-.” Julius was cut off abruptly as they rounded a corner and collided with the heavily armoured chest of Kerrion Stonefell who grunted and glowered down at them. “Oh, our apologies.”

Technically, Julius wasn’t meant to be the one apologising - this was his castle and Stonefell wasn’t stood or keeping to the proper side like a guard was supposed to but it was a natural response when bumping into someone. The older man seemed to realise this as well judging by the way he straightened and stepped aside, averting his gaze.

“No, no,” he mumbled, “I am the one who ought to apologise. My lord.”

Julius and Vesper glanced at one another and shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“Quite all right.” Then Julius began to walk on further before he noticed that Vesper looked confused.

“I am sorry but,” she said, stopping and turning back around, “was there something you need? If you were looking for Lord and Lady Briarwood, they’re with Lord and Lady de Rolo in the Sitting Room.”

Someone of Whitestone could instantly tell you that Vesper’s words were laced with passive aggression. Julius almost winced at the rudeness but Kerrion, not being one raised in Whitestone or in a noble environment, didn’t pick up on it, it seemed.

“Are they?” Stonefell said and cleared his throat, “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll just be on my way.”

“We’re heading in that direction,” Vesper went on, “You’re welcome to walk with us.”

“That’s kind of you, my lady, but I’ll walk along later. I am only a guard.”

“Nonsense! You are allowed to walk with us. It is called an escort. I know you’re not one of _our_ guards but we’re familiar enough, aren’t we?” Vesper smiled, “Come, come. It isn’t far and anyway, one of the castle staff might wonder why you’re walking about this part of the castle alone. We’ll take you to the Sitting Room.”

Julius hid his smile. Vesper clearly did not like Stonefell.

Muttering something under his breath, Stonefell faced them and stiffly bowed.

“My lady is most kind,” he said in a tight voice, “I will follow.”

And so he did, awkwardly keeping a stilted pace beside Vesper and keeping his focus ahead of him, his mouth turned into something close to a grimace.

“So, Mr Stonefell, was it?” Vesper asked cordially, not liking a lengthy silence, “You’ve been in the employment of Lord and Lady Briarwood for a while, have you?”

“Not really that long,” Stonefell murmured back to her, “But they trust me well enough.”

“That’s good. You must be a fine fighter.”

His mouth twitched to become a fleeting smirk that only lasted a second. “I am.” 

“What weapon do you favour, Mr Stonefell?” asked Julius, sounding genuinely interested rather than making conversation for the sake of it. 

“Any kind of blade,” Stonefell replied and cleared his throat.

“Ah, I’m training in the art of the blade as well,” Julius nodded, “Perhaps we might spar together some day?”

“...Unlikely.” 

“Oh won’t Lord and Lady Briarwood let you have a little time off?” Vesper said with surprise, “We practice with our guards quite often! The Barracks are attached to the castle, you know.” 

“I did know.” Stonefell had made a point of finding out where all the guards reported to soon after arriving in Whitestone for the first time about a month ago. “But I am always on duty. I cannot be away from the Briarwoods.” 

Julius and Vesper cocked their de Rolo eyebrows at one another. 

“Then how did you end up near the music room?” Julius asked in a calm, clipped voice. “Though it is a little elitist of me to say, you were wandering close to parts of the castle that are private to our family.” 

“...I...” Stonefell had to think fast. “I stepped away for just a moment to address one of my men and I must have got lost.”

Two guards came heading the opposite way down the corridor all of a sudden and Stonefell narrowed his eyes. The guards weren’t his. These were castle guards loyal to the de Rolos so at seeing Kerrion Stonefell walking alongside the young lord and lady, they both involuntarily stiffened and tensed, ready to defend. 

“Do you require any assistance?” one of the guards, an Elven female, immediately asked once in earshot. 

“Thank you, but we’re fine,” Julius replied, “We were simply showing the way to where Lord and Lady Briarwood are. They are still with our parents, I presume?” 

“Yes, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Kerrion was already away, walking off briskly in the direction of the Sitting Room, wishing away the hours so he could finally be done with the pretence and be free to do what he was brought here to do. 

“Forgive me, young masters, for talking out of place,” the Elf guard said with a deep bow, “but please, should you ever need an escort, it would be our honour.”

That was their way of saying ‘don’t go talking to the Briarwoods guards because we think they’re a bit dodgy’ but neither Julius or Vesper made any comment on that. They simply gave their thanks and their commendation and continued on in the direction of the stables to meet with their siblings so they could enjoy one last ride together before the feast.

* * *

“Don’t jump it, Ludwig! Don’t-.” Whitney sighed as her younger brother spurred on his horse, allowing it to canter towards a fallen log and letting out a peel of laughter as, with a kick hooves, they flew over it and into the forest. “....He jumped it.” 

“To be fair, I think the horse wanted to jump it just as much,” Cassandra shrugged. She had dismounted so she could stretch her legs and feed her horse a treat.

A few seconds later, bright-eyed Ludwig and his frisky chestnut yearling came trotting back, both looking very proud of themselves. 

“If you’d fallen off, you’d have snapped your neck,” Whitney playfully scolded without any real heat in her voice due to the impressed smile she was wearing.

Ludwig was a fine horseman who would never fall off but he smiled sheepishly and petted his horse’s neck. The young horse shook his mane proudly. 

“We can’t delay too much longer,” Vesper announced with a disappointed sigh, retrieving her goshawk from one of their accompanying falconers, “We have to clean and dress in time for the meal tonight.” 

“Ludwig especially needs to wash _now_ ,” Julius chuckled, his horse stopping beside his little brother so the rider could ruffle Ludwig’s long hair, “He’s got twigs and leaves and probably a bear lurking in that mop of his.” 

“Poor bear,” Oliver sighed, shaking his head as he came up on the other side of Ludwig, “It’ll be lost for months.” While Ludwig’s shoulder-length hair was the longest, Oliver’s was definitely the shortest. 

“Could you imagine if bears were really that small?” Cassandra giggled while Percival bent down to help her mount back into her saddle, “and they really could nest in your hair like that?” 

“That would be very cute, if a little disturbing, but unfortunately, bears are usually quite big and dangerous,” Whitney told her, matter of factly, letting the falconer take her own bird. “Not that I’ve ever seen one, of course.”

Julius whistled loudly and waited for the answering call of his hawk, lifting his gloved hand as it came soaring down on the wind, manoeuvring past the trees and coming to land spectacularly on it’s master. It roused itself for a moment and waited for Julius to present it with a tidbit to eat as was their custom.

Whitney picked off a bug from her horse’s mane and flicked it at Oliver while the attendants that had accompanied the young lords and ladies packed up their equipment and retrieved the birds. 

“We do have bears don’t we?” Ludwig asked, looking over his shoulder, “In the Parchwood?”

The siblings and their attendants glanced around cautiously. 

“I was feeling quite safe until you said that,” Oliver muttered, gently pushing his horse to walk on beside his twin sister. 

“I doubt any of us will actually see a bear in the Parchwood,” Vesper coughed hurriedly, “And if any of us do, we have to tell the others all about it.” 

“I look forward to doing so,” Percival smiled, handing his prize peregrine to the falconer attendants and swinging up onto the back of his restless white mare. It had the intended effect of making the others laugh. 

“You? Mr Never Leaves His Workshop?” Whitney grinned, “Oh, I _shall_ miss you when we marry you off.” 

“Still going on about that?” Percival stopped smiling and rolled his eyes at the joke that had been going on now for weeks. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll marry you into a family that has a bear,” Oliver joked, “so you can make good on your promise.” 

“Lovely. And now that’s settled,” Vesper tiredly interjected, “we should be getting back before Mother and Father get cross.”

The Whitestone horses were an elegant breed with long legs and feathery hooves. Not exactly the fastest or the strongest - like the stockier bred war horses - but certainly graceful and beautiful. There were horses like Vesper’s which were a glossy black (a traditional colour for the breed) and others like Ludwig’s and Oliver’s who were a shiny chestnut and ones like Percival’s which were spotlessly white and ones like Cassandra’s which were smoke grey. They cantered and trotted with their heads high, especially those wearing the de Rolo crests on their rugs and saddles. 

Assuming responsibility, Julius took the lead with Vesper and Percival either side of him while Whitney, Oliver, Ludwig and Cassandra fell in behind them as the four escort attendants brought up the rear.

The guards at the gate presented their spears and bowed their heads as the young de Rolos passed them and smiled. The people in the city were preparing to return to their homes but they each stopped to the side and bowed politely with smiles of their own as the family rode by, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping along the dirt until they reached the cobble-stone part of the town square.

Round the Sun Tree each sibling went, taking it in turns to reach from their saddles and touch the trunk as was their little tradition after leaving the city, as though to confirm to the sacred tree that the ruling family was okay and had returned home in good health.

Ludwig frowned as he brought his hand away. The Sun Tree did not seem to be quite as happy but he wasn’t sure as to why that might be. He couldn’t talk to trees (although he wished he could) but it was still clear that there was something not quite right.

Perhaps there was a storm due.

* * *

Delilah finished straightening Sylas’ collar and stepped back, admiring her husband proudly as he twirled in place, showing off. 

“As handsome as you were when we first met,” Delilah laughed, reaching her hands out to catch him and allowing herself to be swept around as he spun. 

“As beautiful as you have _always_ been, my love,” Sylas purred back, pulling his wife to his chest and lifting her up into one final twirl. He never tired of her laughter. Music could not compare anymore. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” so she laughed, “I will only feel worthy of beauty once I am actually titled a ‘Lady’ again.” 

“My sweet sweet love!” Sylas moaned, looking crest-fallen, “You never ceased being a Lady. The swine over the sea took our home and land away, certainly, but they cannot take away who you are. You are more worthy of being a Lady than any noble I know.” 

“And after tonight,” Delilah smiled, “We shall have Whitestone.”

Sylas kissed her, hard, his hands coming up to hold Delilah’s head while she twisted her fingers into his hair in a passionate display, locking them in place. 

“This city is not worth you, Delilah,” he murmured into her lips, “but if my dearest wants it, then we can just take it, can’t we?” 

“And we shall,” Delilah replied, pulling her face away to gaze adoringly into his soulless eyes, “You and I. The Whispered One will be pleased and we shall have our reward - together.” 

Sylas released Delilah from his grasp and lifted her hand to sensuously kiss her knuckles. The feeling of his cold lips against her warm skin always sent shivers down Delilah’s spine. 

“Of course,” Sylas then said in a low voice, “I know someone else who will be happy tonight.” He looked over his shoulder at where he had put his sword, stood upright against the wall in it’s scabbard. It was a beautiful blade of onyx black and when he took it up in his hand, Delilah had thought she had never seen anyone more impressive. 

“ _I hunger..._ ” the blade growled in Sylas’ mind. 

“Patience, my friend,” Lord Briarwood answered it, “There is to be a feast tonight and I guarantee that you will partake.” 

“ _Do you promise?_ ” asked the blade. 

“I not only promise, I _swear_ ,” said Sylas, “I swear, by tomorrow morning, you will know what a de Rolo of Whitestone tastes like.” He felt Delilah’s arms wrap around his torso. 

“Tonight will be unforgettable,” she sighed. 

“Yes,” Sylas agreed, gripping the hilt of Craven Edge tighter, “a night to remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. Just so everyone is clear, next chapter is the one that everyone who chose to read this story is waiting for.
> 
> Before then, this has been your last chance to say goodbye to the full set of de Rolo siblings and hello to the Anti-Perc’ahlias - I mean, the Briarwoods.
> 
> The de Rolos’ Whitestone horses are based on my favourite breed which is the Friesian. Typically black but this is a fantasy world so if I say Percy has a white one to symbolise his future hair colour, then he has a white one. Liam O’Brien logic says so.


	5. The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s long. It’s gruesome. It’s really not a great night...

Percival gave a discrete sigh as a server passed by to pour wine into his sister’s cup by her plate and Vesper bit back a smirk while Julius, next to her, smugly took a long sip from his drink. Percival wouldn’t roll his eyes at this obvious taunting so he instead proudly took up his own goblet and drank a mouthful of the elderflower drink that was set aside for the younger children. 

It wouldn’t be long, he had to remind himself, before he could partake of the wine and take his place as an official ‘big brother’ and perhaps that would get Whitney and Oliver to stop teasing him quite so much. Percival scowled over to where the twins opposite him were leaning together and murmuring things secretly into one another’s ears when one of the adults weren’t looking. No, they’d never stop teasing him; Percival was just too good of a target and so easy to wind up. 

“ _It would certainly be a shame if your older brother stopped making things for the dollhouse,_ ” he huffed at them in his head - but only half-heartedly because he loved making things for the dollhouse. He loved making all sorts of things for his siblings and it helped that he was good at it. 

The fireplace had been lit and the Dining Hall was nice and warm as the food was brought in and served up to the family seated at the long table while the musicians started to gently play in the background. Lord and Lady de Rolo were at the wide end of the table and Lord and Lady Briarwood were at the opposite end so they took up both heads. Between Lady de Rolo and Lady Briarwood, on one length, were Cassandra, Ludwig, Oliver and Whitney and between Lord de Rolo and Lord Briarwood, on the other length, were Julius, Vesper, Percival and Anna Ripley.

The woman had, so far, ignored the majority of the table and either spent time staring at the enormous family portrait on the wall or leaning over to hiss things at Sylas who would smile, seeming to enjoy the doctor’s discomfort as they finished off their first course and began on the main.

Once the proper meal began and natural conversation started, Anna appeared to relax and gave her attention to the food on her plate while glancing occasionally at the young man seated next to her.

While the Lords and Ladies chatted amiably over the table and Cassandra and Ludwig were in a mild debate on which of the vegetables were their least favourites and Whitney and Oliver were still discussing things in hushed voices and Julius and Vesper were trying to join in on the grown-up conversations, Percival was sat with a loss on what to do except eat and drink and add little comments to everyone’s individual discussions from time to time. But only Vesper seemed to really acknowledge.

Well...not _just_ Vesper.

He had noticed that the doctor beside him was eating very slowly and had hardly touched her wine and he took her glances in his direction to mean that she was wanting conversation of her own but was, perhaps, a little shy at initiating it. In actual fact, Ripley had worked out that this quiet boy was Anders’ requested ‘spare’ and she was studying his face and actions... 

“So, you are Dr Ripley?” 

Anna almost gave a violent start when the teenager’s ice blue eyes suddenly turned to her and he started speaking. 

“My sister told me that you were travelling with the Briarwoods,” he said and adjusted his glasses.

Recovering quickly, Ripley dipped her head and fought hard to keep the smile off her face. At long last...! 

“That’s correct.” She peered at him closely. “And you are... Percival?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he smiled in delight at the recognition. “Yes! How did you find that out?”

He looked so pleased that Ripley allowed herself to smile back and she demurely brushed her black hair from her shoulder. 

“I met your Professor Anders earlier this evening,” she replied as she took a small bite of her food, her eyes never leaving Percy’s. She wanted his complete and undivided attention. “Spoke very highly of you.”

He was quite obviously his father’s son to look at. He had the signature strong brow of a de Rolo and the chiselled jawline and cheekbones which suggested that, with a little more ageing, he would easily develop the handsome adult facial structure that seemed inherent in the bloodline. Ripley wondered if he might live long enough for her to properly appreciate that one day. Yet at her compliment, Percival coloured a little, pushed his glasses up his nose and bashfully lowered his face, his smile turning shy which, for a brief moment, turned him from his father into his mother.

With his head lowered, Ripley stared at Percy’s dark hair, envisioning the brilliant brain that was hidden within his skull. 

“Ah...” Percy said, rubbing his neck awkwardly, “Professor Anders is a brilliant teacher. He’s taught me a lot.” 

“From what I gathered,” Ripley responded, becoming more and more fond of this boy, “very little effort is needed to teach you, Percival. He claims you’re quite the genius.” 

“He exaggerates,” said Percy, trying to mask his embarrassment by drinking his cordial again. Then he nodded suddenly to the rest of the table and flashed a mischievous look to Anna. “Perhaps in comparison to my brothers and sisters.”

She wasn’t sure what made her do it but, for the first time, Ripley let out a genuine laugh.

Sylas and Delilah, near her, were momentarily distracted and took a moment to recall what it was they were saying to Lord and Lady de Rolo. Also recovering quickly, Ripley hid her unintentional mirth behind her hand and she gazed to Percy with a new expression. She had never had someone make her laugh without warning before. 

And the way his face had changed with that single cheeky look... 

“A sense of humour too?” Ripley tittered, finally calming down and kicking lightly at his chair, “I like you Percival.”

She hadn’t anticipated Percy lowering his cup and looking at her with amazement. 

“Thank you!” he said and then immediately, as though he had slipped up somehow, straightened his back, adjusted his little ascot and pushed his glasses up his nose once again which was a habit that Ripley was beginning to love. “Thank you,” he repeated in a more dignified tone, “I don’t... I think it is hard to find others who, uh... Well, thank you.” 

Ripley’s eyes softened. 

“I understand,” she said. Percy turned to her in surprise as she continued, “We’re a different breed of Human, Percival. It is hard to make friends with those who don’t value the pursuit of knowledge quite as highly as we do.”

Percy glanced around the table at his family. The fiddler in the far corner had begun another slow piece and Oliver looked over his shoulder to listen to it for it was a favourite composition of his. 

“...So you’re a doctor?” Percy babbled, beginning a whole new conversation in the hopes of being able to talk about something other than himself and his own insecurities. 

“Of science mostly, yes,” Ripley nodded. 

“That is amazing! Where did you train?” 

“Oh... here and there throughout Rexxentrum. Bit of correspondence with the likes of the Cerberus Assembly - not that I expect you to know what that is. Mostly military technology and a little medical study, enough to pass for a decent surgeon. But my interest in biology was limited. I preferred dissection and autopsy to healing.” She chuckled and popped a grape into her mouth. “Maybe not a topic for the dinner table?” 

“Oh I don’t mind,” Percy said (and he was telling the truth there). As she had said, he wasn’t too familiar with societies in Wildmount though he could recall bits and pieces that he’d overheard his mother mention. “Correct me if I’m wrong but... the ‘Assembly’ place? They train the arcane arts, don’t they?” 

“They do,” Ripley nodded, discretely sending a look in Delilah’s direction, “There is more than one kind of science, after all.” She pushed away her plate, clearly deciding she had finished. “Chemistry and Engineering and those sorts of sciences are my TRUE passion, however, and if what Anders tells me is correct, _you’ve_ been equally as passionate in those fields. I’ve talked enough about me - I would LOVE for you to tell me more about yourself.” 

“ _Actually,_ ” Percy thought, “ _she’s hardly told me anything about herself._ ” She had actually turned in her seat to face Percy properly, her foot tapping against his chair again. 

From her other side came a dark chuckle. 

“Spare us, Anna,” Sylas Briarwood muttered, “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for you and Percival to discuss important matters this week.”

Percy actually blinked in surprise to find that Lord Briarwood had taken care to remember not only his name but that he, the third in a brood of seven, belonged to it. That was twice tonight he’d been acknowledged by name.

Ripley hadn’t looked away from Percy, her back to the Briarwoods, but she lifted her chin to respond, “You promise me, Sylas?” 

“A solemn promise, Anna.” 

“There you are, Percival,” Ripley beamed. _Tap tap_ went her foot. “I’m going to get to know you VERY well.”

The foot moved and _tap tapped_ against his ankle instead.

That was when Percival decided that, actually... there might be something _off_ about Dr Anna Ripley. His admiration and naive infatuation wavered like a trembling pane of glass and was threatening to break completely as the only thing he began to feel from her intensely keen attention was complete discomfort. 

Smiling politely, he mirrored Ripley by also pushing away his plate and wondered if he could find a way of giving some excuse to leave the dinner table sooner rather than later. He knew that the youngsters were sometimes dismissed early so that the adults could continue the meal in peace but if he could perhaps feign that he had to take some morsel up to Professor Anders or to say that he had something in his room he wished to bring down and show Ripley then...

...Then he began to notice that his mother and father were looking pale. Confused. Their conversation seemed to have quietly dried up and they seemed unable to focus on their guests across the table, their merry smiles now replaced with worried frowns. Cassandra had stopped talking to Ludwig as she noticed the change in her mother’s demeanour beside her and appeared to whisper a question which went unanswered. 

“Vesper...” Percy began to murmur, leaning to his sister, “is mother and father okay, do you think?”

Vesper had stopped eating. She was swaying a little in her seat and, trembling, tried turning her head to look at her younger brother. Her mouth opened and closed several times and her fork slipped from her shaking fingers as she blinked rapidly, not being able to discern Percival’s voice. 

“Vesper?” Percy tried again, beginning to panic. “Are YOU okay?” 

“Is there something the matter?” Ripley asked calmly. Her eyes were half closed and yet were still trained on Percy with a predatory expression on her face which Percy did not see for he was looking around the table worriedly.

Next to Vesper, Julius was also acting strangely. His spoon fell from his hand and dropped noisily to the floor. Whitney and Oliver were startled from their mutterings and quickly took note of the situation. Their father attempted to rise from the table but he couldn’t seem to find the strength and fell forward with a clatter. 

“Is there something the matter?”

That may have been Ripley repeating herself but Percy was too distracted as his mother’s eyes drooped and she slumped over, Julius and Vesper following suit. His younger siblings were panicking and looking to one of their older siblings for help and only Percival was in the right mind to do anything. 

“We need help!” he called, aware that since his mother and father and his older brother and sister were incapacitated, it was up to him, as the next oldest, to give the orders, “Send for some healers and get-!” He was abruptly cut off when Ripley suddenly leapt and grabbed him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth and throwing him in the direction of the fireplace. 

“You’re glad you’re not old enough to drink now, aren’t you?” Anna joked.

Cassandra screeched in alarm as everything erupted into chaos. 

The Briarwoods’ turncoat guards, which were standing dutifully along the wall by the doors, all immediately drew out their sword and daggers and drove them into the de Rolo guards as the doors were thrown open and in charged Stonefell with the rest of his mercenaries, striking one of the servers down in one fluid motion and dispatching his men to storm the rest of the castle as a tray and its contents went spilling over the floor. 

Lord and Lady Briarwood had begun to move with frightening speed, Sylas leaping up on the table and Delilah dancing around on one side. Whitney grabbed a decanter and prepared to throw it but her wrist was caught by Stonefell who pulled her from her seat to the ground and stamped his foot down on her leg.

The Dining Hall heard the first of many screams.

Lord Frederickstein de Rolo, hearing his daughter’s cries, had just enough strength and stamina to lift his head up and see the Briarwoods descend on them before he felt the sting of Craven Edge and he felt nothing more. Delilah made sure his wife was not far behind him.

Cassandra pressed her eyes shut and buried her face in her arms so she wouldn’t see anything and she screamed and screamed and screamed, even as hands seized her and pulled her from the table, throwing her into the arms of what felt like a servant who held her protectively against her chest.

It was just as well that Cassandra wasn’t watching...

Oliver jumped to the aid of his twin but was killed before he could land a hit on Stonefell. Ludwig attempted to run but another of Stonefell’s men grabbed him by his silky hair and swiftly broke his neck while Stonefell himself kicked aside some chairs to find that Ripley had already dealt with Vesper, her lifeless bloodied body slumped messily over the remains of what was once a very impressive meal. Stonefell made sure Julius was given the same treatment and darkly apologised to the young man that they never would have that friendly spar. Whitney crawled, wracked with pain from her broken leg, over the floor towards her twin brother, her tears blinding her to the blood that ran from his neck. She had only just reached out to touch his arm when the shadow of Delilah Briarwood fell over her and just as she had been born with Oliver, so too did she die at his side. Ludwig’s body was not far from them, curled at the foot of their mother. Frederick’s hand was close to Julius and Julius’ arm had protectively been over Vesper, his instincts as a big brother kicking in even in his final moments. 

At least none of them had died completely alone.

The tablecloth was turning more and more red as more and more screams began to echo down the hallways, evidence that Stonefell’s people were finding more victims to murder or intimidate into surrendering. 

Percival had hit the ground hard from where Ripley had thrown him and he groaned as he tried to roll over, the only sounds in his head being the cries and shouts from his siblings and the clattering of chairs and plates and cutlery. He could hear poor Cassandra wailing and it sparked a instinctual desire to fight back within him. But before he could climb to his feet, he felt a strong set of fingers wrap around his throat and his breath was cut off. 

“You should stay down, boy,” Stonefell’s voice barked at him.

Percival had just enough time to look his attacker in the eye before he was pulled over towards the far wall and thrown against it, his head making contact with the wood. His pulse ringing in his ears, his vision blurred and his legs gave out. He was left in a bruised pile and was only able to feel the vibrations of running feet through the ground as he gingerly reached out a trembling hand to grab at his glasses that he had dropped. 

“Stay. Down.”

It was a few minutes before his eyesight returned. He wished it hadn’t. All that greeted him were the bodies of his family, draped over and around the dinner table like a biblical painting, their blood running off the furniture, down their limbs, onto the floor... 

Cassandra was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

With a final flourish, the Dining Hall was clear of defiant people, guards, servers, attendants, who fought back against their attackers. Sylas grinned triumphantly, spinning his beautiful onyx blade, Craven Edge, around in his hand, content with the knowledge that he had fed it well. It was something he and the blade had in common - a hunger for a certain kind of food. 

“Well,” he heard his wife sigh, “that’s one little piece of business taken care of.“ 

He turned to her with a loving smile and embraced her over the bodies of Frederick and Johanna. Their chairs had been tipped and now all of them were on the floor together. 

“Captain Stonefell?” Sylas called over the room as Kerrion himself reentered from the kitchens, his sword slick with blood, looking pleased with himself, “Have you and your men been thorough?” 

“All those that wouldn’t bend a knee have been removed from the picture until you wish their corpses be put to use, my Lord and Lady,” the butcher replied to the embracing couple, “Quick and easy. The girl you requested be spared has been taken by a maid but when we find her, she’ll be locked away and guarded, per your orders.” 

“And the other one?” Delilah crooned, stroking her husband’s chest and looking around the room hopefully, “Anders’ little star student?” 

Stonefell looked to where he had left the teenager and found nothing which elicited a cry of frustration. 

“The skinny little brat’s done a runner! I slammed him against that wall and he was supposed to stay there!” he cried, glaring at his people who had neglected to notice an escaping boy. “Ripley! You were meant to be watching him!”

Anna had sat herself back at the table, cleaning herself of Vesper’s blood and looking almost as though she were waiting for the next course to be served. She sneered at him in response. 

“I’m not a baby-sitter! I was busy. It’s not my fault if your group of sell-swords couldn’t keep tabs on a cowardly noble’s son!” 

“Hold your tongues, both of you!” Sylas barked, disrespectfully stepping on the bodies as he moved forward. “We’ve agreed that we’re keeping him alive so I suggest you find him - quickly - and bring him to us.”

That meant both of them.

Rolling her eyes, Ripley rose and stalked after Stonefell through the closest door, following a faint trail of odd droplets of blood. 

“You hear that, Kerrion?” Ripley snapped as they lead a small batch of ready and waiting murderers behind them, “We’re keeping him _alive_. I’ve already been promised him so keep your butchering ways under check for now.” 

“What you do to him in your own time is none of my concern, _Anna_ ,” Stonefell growled back to her, waving his people off to search the rooms up and down various corridors. “But if you want him so badly, how about you help LOOK?”

* * *

He ran and ran, his sore legs crying at him to slow down but his heart and pounding head telling him to find help as quickly as possible. There were people elsewhere in the castle that could fight back, weren’t there? He had blood trickling down his chin and neck from where he’d bitten either his tongue or his cheek and he only realised too late that it might be dripping onto the carpet underneath him.

Up to the second floor he went, the screams and shouts of voices throughout the castle assailing him from all sides. He leapt into the shadows to keep out of the way of some of the Briarwoods men as they sprinted past in the hunt of staff and he had to duck into the occasional room in order to avoid being spotted, hoping against all hope that some of those people were actually castle guards that were rallying to attack.

Although his vision was blurry from the tears that were pooling in his eyes, Percival found his feet leading him to the first person in the castle he could think of:

Professor Anders was sat at his desk, reading with a drink in his hand, when the doors opened and Percy practically fell into his study, battered and broken, his hair in disarray, blood on his lips, his chin and his chest. 

“Percy?” Anders said in a flat, emotionless voice, putting down his drink, “Now just why are _you_ here?”

Could he not hear the screams? Could he not hear the panic and the murders? Why was he not reacting to the state the boy was in?

Poor Percival collapsed at Anders’ feet and he clung to his tutor’s arm like a lifeline, desperate for comfort and support. 

“Professor!” Percy panted, “You... Please, we need help! We need-! Where are the guards? We need- They’re all... Professor Anders, I need HELP!” The tears that were collecting in his eyes now fell, soaking his cheeks and mixing with the blood. He wept into Anders’ hands, the shock subsiding as realisation dawned on him properly for the first time and, with it, grief.

Anders’ face was impassive as he took his free hand and gently, like a caring parent, wiped away some of the tears on Pecy’s face, feeling the small bristles of a teenager’s dark stubble that had only recently begun to become noticeable. 

“You’re not at dinner.” 

“Please!” Percy sobbed, trying and failing to focus on Anders’ face. He’d managed to keep a hold of his glasses although one lens was severely cracked. “Mother and F-Father... Then they- There was blood...” 

Anders let out a long breath. 

“Dear me, dear me. You should be at dinner, Percy my lad,” he murmured, getting to his feet and removing the boy from his arm. “You’ll make the Lord and Lady very cross if you’re not careful.” 

“Professor...” Percy begged, his voice and breath hitching, “I need _help_!” 

Anders gazed down at him.

And smiled. 

“...No, Percy.” 

Percival blinked in his confusion and wiped at his eyes, letting his tutor lift him to his feet although he remained unsteady. His legs shook and now that he hadn’t a hand to hold, he resorted to hugging himself, wincing at his bruised ribs.

Professor Anders sighed and cupped his hand around the back of Percival’s head. 

“No, you’ve never needed help,” he went on in a soft, soothing voice, “You’re such an intelligent thing. Much more intelligent than the rest of your family. You’re so intelligent, in fact, that you’ve even managed to stay alive longer than they have. Now why could THAT be?”

His voice was like honey, sweet and coating Percival’s senses. Like Lord de Rolo, Professor Anders had a tongue as silver laced as any other Bard when he chose to use it and, for a moment, Percival felt the soft tone begin to addle his senses. He felt tired. He felt ready to do whatever it was that Anders wanted him to do.

Until he realised that while his tutor’s tone had been honeyed, his choice of words certainly hadn’t and he felt a hard hand grip his upper arm and squeeze while a cold dread started to settle in his chest. 

“Ow...” Percival whimpered, instinctively pulling away which only increased the pain as Anders refused to let go. He looked up, hurt, as he slowly came to the understanding that his tutor, the man he respected and admired, had let him down. “Professor...?” 

“Sorry Percy boy,” said Anders, his face darkening, “You might have used your brains to escape being caught but you haven’t used them to work out that I won’t be helping you.” 

Betrayal was brutal and hard, that much Percival knew from his story books. But he hadn’t realised _how_ brutal and _how_ painful it was until it was staring at him in the face while his family lay dead downstairs. The heartbreak was indescribable. It was as though, in that one instant, everything had drained from his body and never had he felt so alone. 

“No...” Percival squeaked, his voice failing him too. He pulled harder but the grip only tightened and now Anders was dragging him towards the door. “No, Professor! NO! Why? Why would you...?” 

“Come,” Anders told him calmly, “Let’s just get this over and done with, shall we?”


	6. Victory And The First Of Many Rewards

It was all unfair.

That was what Percy thought in his head.

He struggled for all he was worth but he was already feeling weak from Stonefell’s mistreatment and the pain of seeing the corpses of his parents and siblings. He couldn’t even recall if they were all dead or not and the only thing that kept him going was the fleeting hope that one of them survived.

At this point, he was barely walking, trailing along the floor with his feet scrabbling for purchase on the carpet as Professor Anders marched on in determination, a cold glare steeling his features as he dragged Percival behind him, one hand still clamped around the boy’s forearm and another finding a hold of his bloodied ascot.

All the while, Percival quietly whispered Andes’ name in the hopes that it might do something, might kindle some kind of compassion, some realisation maybe, as the last of his silent tears were shed across his pale skin.

Rounding a corner, Percival’s heart thumped and immediately chilled at the sight of a familiar and imposing figure blocking the way. 

“Let a fish slip the net, did we Stonefell?” Anders scoffed, pulling Percival roughly in front of him, not seeming to care that he stumbled and choked on the ascot around his neck, in the grip of his tutor.

Stonefell glared down at the young de Rolo who was trying not to get himself hanged on his clothing. 

“Wasn’t my fish,” he snarled and then lifted his head. “Oi, Ripley!” he called, “We’ve got him.”

Seconds later, Ripley had appeared beside Stonefell. 

“And you two are supposed to be the professionals?” Anders snorted, “I can already see it will be me having to clear up all your messes in the future.” 

Ripley matched his attitude. 

“That IS what servants are for, aren’t they?” She eyed Percival eagerly and reached for the scruff of his shirt. “Now hand him over. Lord and Lady Briarwood want a word.”

Percival let out another little yelp as he was harshly yanked back to his tutor’s side like he was a toy that Anders wasn’t willing to share. 

“Hands off,” Anders snapped, “ _I’ll_ take him to the Briarwoods. Only fair seeing as I was the one to catch him.” 

“Well that’s laughable. You can hardly call it a ‘catch’ when you weren’t even hunting him!” 

“I wasn't hunting him because I wasn’t the one to let him get away.” Anders propped Percy up on his feet and smiled. “Now then, Percival, ‘best behaviour’ - as your parents used to say. We’re to see the new Lord and Lady of Whitestone.”

* * *

The sun had set an hour ago and the people of Whitestone, hoping to be travelling to their homes under the spread of clear northern stars, were disappointed to find an unusual cloud cover setting in, ominously shrouding the visible moon and bathing the majestic Whitestone Castle in an eerie light.

Father Reynal was sweeping the steps at the front of the temple of Pelor before bed and he looked up at the castle as a sudden chill swept through the graveyard and made a crow caw loudly.

Simon Whisk was finishing locking up his shop and was planning on joining his wife and his daughter for a meal when a sharp cold wind rattled the windows and made him frown.

Young Desmond Altham was hurrying back home from working in the fields when he was startled by a distressed farm dog which suddenly began to howl for apparently no reason.

Keeper Yennen had just locked up the doors to the Lady’s Chamber and was finishing up the last of his prayers when his candle blew out though he could feel no draught. The cat that lived with him and kept the Chamber free of mice, suddenly lifted her head, let out a moaning yowl, and bolted out the nearest window.

Archibald Desnay was slowly (for he was old) making his way back home after spending time at the castle but he paused when he passed the Sun Tree, certain that he’d just heard it mournfully moan.

They had yet to discover what had happened.

* * *

The screams had ceased and the general panic of the castle had subsided, replaced only by the silence of the Briarwoods’ victory.

The ones that lived were those who immediately pledged allegiance to the Briarwoods but the ones that still swore loyalty to their former masters were now all decimated.

One brave handmaid had found a way of smuggling young Cassandra away, hiding her in the castle among the cubby holes and the serving hatches within the walls. Cassandra and her brothers and sisters knew them well (they had provided excellent places to use during intense games of Hide and Seek) so it was easy for her to adjust to keeping quiet in the cramped, dark spaces.

What proved more difficult was trying to ease the sickness of grief and shock that had taken hold of the girl and as she lay in the darkness, curled up in the foetal position with the urge to throw up her very recent meal, she heard the castle, her home, gradually grow quiet as a new rulership cemented itself upon it.

The handmaid left her with the promise she would find help but Cassandra doubted she’d ever see her again.

* * *

To Percy’s minuscule drop of relief, they weren’t heading back to the Dining Hall. Instead, they appeared to be going to the Morning Room where he had first laid eyes on the Briarwoods.

As soon as he was pulled through the door, he met with the floor again and had a second to recognise the intricate ivy pattern in the carpet before propping himself up onto his hands and knees, his head low to begin with until Stonefell twisted his fingers in his hair and sharply lifted. His eyes sore, Percy looked up into the faces of his family’s murderers and discovered their sympathetic smiles shining down on him.

And Percival de Rolo the Third found that his fear was beginning to curdle into a terribly thick anger... 

“Hello again, Percival,” Sylas greeted. His hands were behind his back and his voice was still deep and steady. “Or do you prefer ‘Percy’?”

Professor Anders stalked forward, a proud smile on display and said, “Close friends and family call him Percy.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” said Sylas, keeping his attention on the teenager, “You and Anna can go now. Kerrion? Leave him be.”

Anders’ smile fell. One did not argue with the Briarwoods and he had no choice but to obey, turning on his heel and brushing by Ripley’s shoulder, adjusting the collar of his smoking jacket as he went. Stonefell released his hold of their captive’s hair and moved to stand quietly by the door, awaiting further instructions while Dr Ripley, smirking, let her eyes linger on the back of Percy for just a few seconds more. Then, reminding herself eagerly of what she had to look forward to, exited the room without saying a word.

Though Stonefell was still present, hiding in the shadows in a corner of the room, it felt as though Percy had been left alone with Lord and Lady Briarwood and he could feel his anger and his fear battling one another for emotional dominance. Quick passing images were flashing over his eyes, mainly of the faces of his parents and siblings at realising that they were under attack.

Sylas glanced to his wife, smiled, and then sank casually into the chair that Percival’s father always sat in. Or _used_ to always sit in. 

“We apologise for that disruptive display at dinner,” he said, feigning a look of remorse though Percy didn’t believe a bit of it. 

“I’m more sorry about the fact that we didn’t make it until dessert,” Delilah added, not making the same effort as her husband in pretending to care. She remained standing by the cold, dead fireplace and caressed the mantelpiece. 

“Yes, well,” Sylas began, clearing his throat and lacing his pale, skeleton-like fingers together in his lap, “as I’m sure you’re aware, things will be changing around here in Whitestone now. The pressure and responsibilities of running and ruling this city and surrounding land has been kindly removed from your family’s shoulders and now belongs to us. You are free of that burden, young Percival.” Lord Briarwood stopped and checked himself. “No... Percy. Percy to your friends and family, isn’t it?” 

“You are not family and you are NOT a friend anymore!” Percival snapped, his voice high. He cursed the fact that he could feel a tremble in his throat but his anger was simply too strong now to feed the fear. 

“No need for raised voices,” Sylas told him in an infuriating soothing tone, “We have been told that you are gifted with a remarkable brain. We have specific interests in Whitestone and it’s location in Exandria and we have come to understand that it holds many secrets.” 

“It would make us very happy if you helped in answering some questions we have,” Delilah finished, her gloved hands continuing to stroke the mantelpiece slowly and methodically.

Percy glared at the pair of them and hardened his jaw, his fists balling into the ivy patterned carpet. Sylas calmly got to his feet and walked forward, eerily without making a sound, crouching down to draw level with Percy so that he could gaze into the boy’s icy glare. 

“In fact...” he nodded, waiting until he had Percival’s full attention, speaking only when he had complete eye contact. His voice dropped a little more and he spoke slowly... gently... “If you helped us and worked with us, you might be able to keep a title in Whitestone. And you will, of course, be handsomely rewarded. After all, this castle is, by legal rights, yours now, isn’t it? This room we’re in? It’s _your_ room. These chairs are yours. That fireplace is yours. This floor, these walls, the doors and windows and hanging curtains, every tapestry and ornamental piece, the gold and silver, the wood, the stone, the marble, the cloth, every embroidered thread... It’s all yours, _Lord_ de Rolo. You’ve rightly inherited it all, as the oldest. Your birthright. You can keep it, this castle and everything within it, while we rule in your place. What do you say, Percy?”

The eyes of Sylas Briarwood were dead eyes, Percy noted. It made sense. After all, it was those that had no soul which could take the souls of others so easily. But even so... his voice was hypnotic. It was persuasive and calm and... it was a lie. The Briarwoods wanted nothing but complete cooperation so they could do gods knew what but Percy swore he’d be damned before he gave in and handed these murderers and usurpers anything.

“I...” Percival steadied his breath, repelling the remainder of the charming spell from his already active brain, “...I am Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III.” His firm brow deepened and intensified his blue-eyed glare. “You can NOT call me Percy!”

Sylas tilted his head, taken aback by the searing hatred he felt rolling off the young lad in waves as his attempt to charm diminished, unable to penetrate through the wall of rage that had been put up. Percy’s hate and anger was so tangible that, at that moment, Sylas felt it creep under his skin and he knew that the boy’s raw emotions were nullifying his ability to make friends. 

“...So be it, _Percival_ ,” Lord Briarwood growled, returning the hatred, “Perhaps Anna can get you to change your mind. She’s taken such an interest in you.”

Delilah snapped her fingers and Stonefell readily came forward, encasing Percy in his thick arms and grappling him in a vice-like hold. 

“No, don’t!” Percy cried, kicking and only just missing Sylas’ face, “Get off! Where are we going?” 

“We’ll come and see how well you’re doing later,” Sylas promised, rising to his feet as his wife joined him at his side, watching Stonefell wrestle the young lord from the room.

When Percival craned his neck for one last look in their direction, all he saw was Delilah raising her hand to wave at him with an evil smile. 

“Goodbye, _Percy,_ ” she called.

In response, Percy threw back his head, successfully met Stonefell’s nose, and was then promptly knocked unconscious.

* * *

Not too long afterwards, Stonefell returned in a foul mood, blood drying on his upper lip and across his cheek from where he had wiped it over his face as fresh blood continued to dribble from his nostrils. He was in the process of pulling out a handkerchief when he entered the room. 

“Blasted, filthy...” he was muttering, spitting into the cloth and using it to mop up the blood. “Just as well you did what you did. That family is... full of spirit.”

Lord and Lady Briarwood were sat back down in the chairs, contemplating on what actions needed to be done, but Delilah made sure to smirk at the thug. 

“I’m sure it’s not too badly broken,” she said and leant her elbow on the arm of chair. “The young dear is contained?”

Kerrion sneered as he took a seat on one of settees, not looking pleased at his bloodied handkerchief. 

“He’s locked up and in Dr Ripley’s tender loving hands now,” he replied, “What would you have me do now?” 

“We’ll thank you, _Sir_ Stonefell,” Delilah said to him, “You’ve earned that title although I’m afraid that the property you are owed is still housing nobility, relatives of the de Rolo family most likely, distant or otherwise. The castle is ours but you and your men have free rein to visit each of the noble houses and choose one for yourself. The other two you may clear out as well but they will be intended for others, you understand.” 

“Just be certain that none of the immediate household survive,” Sylas added, “We don’t want a relative of the de Rolos turning up, swearing vengeance.” 

“As for the rest of the city,” Delilah continued, “they can be given the choice to either bend to the new rule or die by your sword, Kerrion. There may be other nobles in this city that can live if they are willing to serve - but if they are of any relation to the previous family...” 

“Kill off the bloodline,” Stonefell grinned, tucking his stained handkerchief away although there was still a smear under his nose, “Understood.” 

“It’s a messy business but we could do without having wildly upset 1st, 2nd, or 3rd cousins showing up with a resistance to take back the castle,” Delilah sighed. She leant her head back against Lady de Rolo’s chair and ran her forefinger around in a circle against the cloth of the armrest. “No loose threads, no unfinished tasks... just a neat ending to what will be an unheard story. Not every book deserves a sequel.” 

“Are _all_ the de Rolos in Whitestone?” Stonefell asked. 

“From what we have learnt, only the ‘First Line’ is,” answered Sylas, “As for other branches of the de Rolo family, they’ve mostly all in far off countries or they’ve been married off into other noble bloodlines and are on their way out. They’re distant and they’ll barely know the family that lived and died here.”

For a moment, Stonefell sat quietly and mulled everything over in his head. 

“...Forgive me,” he then said in a low voice, “But the girl?” 

“Once we find her, wherever she’s scampered off to, she’ll be our mask,” Delilah immediately replied, keeping one sly eye on the man on the other side of the room, “For the city. She won’t be marrying and will certainly NOT produce de Rolo children one day. She may come to accept us as her family and, in which case, she will be a Briarwood. This is, of course, completely dependant on whether your people have managed to stay their hands and have not killed her.” Lady Briarwood looked sinister in the dim light. “She went missing during the massacre.”

Again, Stonefell grew quiet. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them as he leant forward, a hand reaching up to gingerly touch his broken nose. 

“Then... the boy?”

Delilah and Sylas exchanged glances. 

“...Yes,” Sylas answered, “He will be more difficult. The older they are, the harder they are to convince and control. And the more they’ll remember. The son is dangerous; he carries too much de Rolo blood.” 

“But he will stay with us, won’t he my love?” Delilah suddenly smiled, “If we truly cannot find the youngest, then he will be her substitute. Probably not as our family right away, for I don’t believe he will be ready to accept us _just_ yet. But as a... I don’t know. A pet for Ripley, perhaps. Or, as Anders has suggested, a tool to be used for our own gains. He is only the son of a lord, pampered and sheltered. I doubt there will be much fight in the dear pup to resist us and we can out him to work.” She laughed and tapped her head. “Always a use for a clever brain.” 

“A pup!” Sylas chuckled with her, “Yes, that is what he and his sister are. Puppies. Now that their wild dog parents have been put down, the whelps remain to be tamed and trained.”

Stonefell wasn’t sure he was comfortable with leaving, potentially, _two_ de Rolo offspring alive but he rose gradually to his feet and bowed. 

“I will continue to have my misgivings about the lad but it is left to your judgement,” he told them tactfully. “In a few hours it will be a new day and I will gladly go and claim my new home.” He straightened and patted his sword. “And, of course, deal with my new Whitestone neighbours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Percy to have a brief little one on one with the Briarwoods just to cement that ‘bond’ he has with them as well as put things in place for the future Campaign.
> 
> Also, the main inspiration for this entire story was to find out more about Stonefell and Anders because you hardly hear anything about them or how the five members of Percy’s list got on with each other so expect more banter between bad guys!  
> (Turns out Ripley and Anders interactions are my favourite.)
> 
> I know many people say that Cassandra was kept alive by the Briarwoods from that first night but I’m inclined to believe Cass when she said that she was only taken in and kept alive AFTER Percy’s escape. In whichever circumstance, broody Briarwoods wanted a de Rolo kid.


	7. The Pecking Order

Cold stone underneath and a burning head that throbbed. They were Percvial’s first two thoughts when he regained consciousness in the dungeon cell beneath his home. Never a place he thought he’d end up visiting for himself. Not unless he did something awful and... as far as he was concerned, he hadn’t done anything. 

Had he?

The dungeon spun as his vision tried desperately to focus on what was around him but it was no good; it was just a painting of dark greys and shapes and bars and chains and coldness. It was SO cold!

He lay there in absolute silence, staring at darkness as he drifted in and out. How long he lay there, he couldn’t tell. Hours, maybe? But eventually there were the sounds of footsteps and a pleased sigh. His eyes must have been open because he was immediately addressed. 

“So... cheeked off the Briarwoods, did you?”

Lungful after lungful of freezing air was drawn into Percy’s body while his heart raced. It was just enough for him to settle his vision to adequately focus on the source of the voice that had spoken to him. She was smiling. Smiling more than he’d ever seen her smile before.

Without giving her a verbal answer, Percival finally pushed up until he was sitting on his knees despite everything swimming around him. The feeling of metal made him aware of his new situation. Tight manacles hugged his wrists a little too firmly and had him chained to the stone wall with a little room to stand and walk in. Standing wasn’t something he was planning on doing just yet, not with his legs feeling as they were. 

“An intelligent mind, a sense of humour, a spitfire tongue...” he heard Ripley continue on. “Where have you been all my life, Percival?”

To his surprise, Percy found his voice and although it took great effort to form words, it didn’t sound as weak or as raspy as he was thinking it would. 

“What do you want?” 

“I’ve been asked to come and speak to you,” Ripley replied, taking hold of two of the bars of his cell, “See if you’ll be willing to cooperate.” 

“No,” he immediately replied and looked around, “Where’s...?”

His tongue froze when he caught sight of the dark shapes in the cell next to his. They were lying in a row together, unmoving, deathly pale... lifeless. The remains of his family. 

“Ah,” Ripley murmured, shrugging. “Dead, I’m afraid. Your mother and father were dogs that had had their day. Kinder to put them down. Your siblings were too much of a handful for Kerrion and I suppose I got a little carried away as well.” She smiled and tapped the bars. “But _you’re_ still alive! Smart people like you and I can’t- ” 

“NO!” Percival’s shout echoed round the dungeons, sharp and very angry. The sob in his throat only rattled his shout further, taking both he and Ripley by surprise. “No, we’re not... Don’t say ‘you and I’!” He grit his teeth. “Don’t say that! We’re not the same! We’re _NOT_!” 

The light was dim and his eyesight was blurred (his glasses were gone) so he couldn’t see Ripley roll her eyes. 

“...I see you’re not thinking clearly yet,” he heard her sigh, “I’m wondering if _now_ is the right time for this...” 

“Giving up already?”

It felt as though someone had driven a dagger through Percy’s chest when he heard his tutor’s voice. The sting of betrayal was still strong and, for the very first time in his entire life, Percival de Rolo III felt the urge to kill. 

“Shut it, Professor,” Ripley snapped as the man walked forward with a pompous air of superiority surrounding him, “you might be the Briarwoods’ current favourite at the moment but they’ll drop you soon enough. If you want to help your situation, how about any advice on how to deal with your little golden boy here.”

Anders glanced to Percy’s crouched form on the ground. The young lad had seen the bodies of his family and had turned away, shaking and shivering, but not crying. He had cried enough and he was too dehydrated to risk losing more tears. 

“Having problems? How strange. He’s always been very obedient and good for _me_.” 

“You can get in there and join him then, if you feel so confident,” Ripley bit at him. 

Percy chanced taking one last look over his shoulder at the adjoining cell but it only further confirmed that which he didn’t want to confirm at all. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Anders told him, noticing his look, “Kerrion made sure that they’re dead.”

Ripley produced a half-hearted chuckle. “Not sugar coating anything here, are you?” 

“He’s 17. He can hear it like it is.”

Anna’s attention was caught. 

“17?” 

“You didn’t know that?”

Ripley turned away from Anders and resumed studying Percival through the bars, a new kind of smile growing on her face. 

“Was there a reason for why you came down here, Professor, or was it just to flounce around?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave. “Some of us actually have work to do.” 

“I wanted to be present for the first interrogation.” 

“Too bad.” 

“The Briarwoods thought it was a good idea.” 

Ripley was beginning to grow mighty irritated with how frequently Anders liked to drop their name like he did and she huffed loudly in the cooling air as she spun to address him. 

“...Let’s get one thing clear, Anders,” she snarled, “The Briarwoods can run the rest of the castle and the city into whatever ruin they see fit. Their personal cult business and _your_ personal cult business is of no concern to me. I’m just here to work and for that I have several areas under MY command. The gathering of scientific information is one of them. So if I don’t want you here, then you are to leave. Understood?”

Anders looked at her with an expression that Ripley wanted to punch before he relented by nodding in a sulky fashion. 

“...Perfectly,” he grumbled, giving Percy a long hard look and then stomping away in irritation.

Refusing to waste any more of her energy on the likes of some stuffy professor, Ripley returned her attention back to the young de Rolo who looked as though he were trying to ignore the pair of them as much as possible. He had scooted back towards the wall and had curled up to bury his face into his legs, his chained wrists wrapped around his knees. 

“Well then, Percival,” Ripley began cheerfully, pulling open the cell door and shutting it behind her with an unnecessarily loud clang, “it seems that although I was considering giving you an hour or so to calm down, your old tutor seems to think that time is of the essence and, truth be told, I’m a little eager to begin as well.” She walked forward slowly and felt a sensation of excitement ripple down her spine when the lad lifted his head to glare at her from over his arms. “I’ve been dying to get to know you better,” she told him, being very truthful. “So we can begin somewhere simple. Something easy and quick. Let’s have your name.” 

Percy bristled as she crouched down in front of him.

“You know my name,” he mumbled. 

“Your _full_ name,” Ripley went on smiling. “I want you to tell me.”

She then pulled out two things from her coat pocket: his glasses, long thought lost, and his father’s ornate letter opener that she must have taken from his study. Seeing the familiar thin blade sent another sensation of anger and hurt through Percy and he could figuratively feel and taste a new kind of poison on his tongue. 

“...No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because this...” Percy fought back that fear yet again so as to keep anger at the forefront, “this is my family’s castle and... and I don’t take orders from you!” 

“It’s just your name I want,” said Ripley, sounding like a patient parent trying to reason with a child. 

“But then you’ll want other things,” Percy pointed out, continuing to shiver though not only from the cold, “I’m not going- I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Ripley sighed. Whether she admired the boy’s stubbornness or not was left up to the imagination of others. 

“...You see, this is typical ‘Noble’ behaviour.” She carefully put Percy’s glasses down to one side and stood up, examining the letter opener in her hands. “Taught as children that high-born _titled_ people of good aristocratic backgrounds are strong and brave and will boldly refuse a would-be interrogator. What they _don’t_ teach you is that nobles are all bark and no bite. You talk fancy, you talk **bold** , you have a few quips and a few witty insults to throw at your enemy...”

Her smile twisted. 

“...but as soon as the pain starts... as soon as your natural need for self-preservation begins to bubble up a little too strong... then nobles are reduced to weeping _beggars_. I’m really not ready to see you, a young man of my particular fancy, become a snivelling mess just yet. So,” she said, her voice quiet and dangerously soft, “out of respect for you, I will apologise and rephrase my question.”

With her free hand to her chest and the other holding the letter opener out to the side, she bowed low to Percy. 

“Greetings, my Lord. I am Doctor Anna Ripley, a humble scientist. May I trouble you for your name, sir?” 

“...You’re mocking me.”

With an alarming swiftness, the cold-hearted woman had a hold of Percy’s wrists and had pulled him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness. He let out a small cry of surprise as he found himself face to face with Anna, the closest he’d ever been, unable to look anywhere except for her piercingly cruel eyes. She leant close to him, her left hand releasing a wrist to rest against the side of his neck which she began to softly stroke with her thumb. 

“May I trouble you for your name, _sir_?” she repeated. Her voice was still soft, the same tone that a man or woman would use when whispering sultry words to their lover. It made Percy's skin crawl and he used the hand that was no longer being held to try pushing Ripley away. 

“Get away from- _AH!_ ” His father’s letter opener was pushed through his shirt and into his left shoulder.

* * *

Byron Anders had stopped after leaving the dungeons and he flinched as he heard the first distant scream of Percival de Rolo from below. To his horror, he felt a twinge of remorse and protectiveness stir within him, evidence of how dangerously close he had grown to Percy. THAT would have to be carved out immediately. 

“...You’re on your own, Percy my boy,” he said quietly over his shoulder, the desire to be present for the interrogation now completely gone though... he found his feet lingering in the hallway, waiting to hear anything else.

* * *

Back underground, Ripley’s voice became a demonic hiss. 

“May I _trouble_ you... for your name... _sir!?_ ” 

It was the moment when Percy first became afraid of Dr Ripley. And it would be a fear that would last the rest of his lifetime. 

“Percival!” he shouted, wanting to throw up. He couldn’t move his head for he was terrified he might catch sight of the thin knife that was pinned into his body and he really would faint. His legs shook but he knew that if he dropped, his shoulder would be worsened and maybe even torn apart altogether. The dreadful woman was right; he was all bark and no bite. He wasn’t equipped for this. 

Ripley still had a hold of it and her pleased smile came even closer to his face. 

“...Percival...?” 

“AH!” She had increased pressure to the knife. “F-Frederick...stein...” 

“Percival Frederickstein...” Ripley nodded, “...good, good...” 

“Von Musel... K... GAH! ...Klossowski...”

He had paused again, his face paper than it had ever been before.

Ripley moved the hand that had stroked his neck so that she was now cupping his cheek and her eyelids lowered. “...Yes?”

Percy trembled but didn’t dare move away from the woman’s hand on his face. Not when the other hand was still holding the small blade that was embedded in his shoulder. 

“You... you know the rest...” he breathed, almost panting, and then gasping in pain as Ripley twisted the knife again. “GA- _AH_! **_OW_**!”

Ripley was cross now and his cries didn’t faze her. She twisted the little blade after she repeated every name, slowly sounding each one back to him as she stared into his eyes. 

“Percival. Frederickstein.” Two twists. 

“ _STOP!”_

“Von Musel.” Twist. “Klossowski...?” _Long_ twist... 

“...De... de Rolo...” Percy finished breathlessly, growing light-headed as his energy failed and the blood seeped from his wound, “...the Third...” 

“Excellent!” Ripley grinned in delight as she stepped back and took the blade with her, removing her hand from Percy’s cheek to bring out a potion of healing in order to repair what she had done. “A long pedigree name for a young pup of pedigree breeding. You see how simple and easy that was? Now we know each other a little better.”

She turned around, hearing Percy slide down the wall and crumple to the floor while she went about cleaning the letter opener with a cloth.

* * *

She left him alone after that. It had only been a relatively small thing, a way of asserting dominance, of putting the young lord in his place and of making him keenly aware of how things were going to be if he didn’t cooperate.

He hadn’t been awake that long and Ripley was too much of a professional to go overboard on the very first bday. You began small and worked up or else risk losing your subject altogether. Besides, it was late and Dr Ripley wanted to rest so she would have full energy for the work ahead of them. There was still the rest of the city to take control of, she was aware, but she knew that she wasn’t needed for that.

The prospect of a little rest after such a busy evening distracted her enough that she almost collided with one of her colleagues as she left the dungeons. 

“For the gods’ sake, Anders!” Ripley snapped, withholding the urge to give the older man a shove. “What are you doing lurking about like a corpse? Have you _nothing_ better to do?”

Anders squared his shoulders and matched her tone. 

“Considering my previous employers were murdered not too long ago and the students I was employed to tutor are mostly dead as well, I find that I run out of things to do quite quickly now.” 

“So for entertainment you come and squat at the dungeon doors in the hopes of hearing a singing canary, do you?” 

“I was interested in what you were asking him,” Anders replied, telling the truth for once. 

“I was only asking for his name! Good grief! I’m not going to jump in straight away only a couple of hours after he’s woken up. I know you’re eager but patience is a virtue.” 

The Professor huffed crossly. “Well, if you want any advice, you’ll waste time asking him about temples so don’t bother. He won’t know. He spends more time tinkering than he does praying.”

Ripley let out a sigh with a smile on her face. “A man after my own heart.” 

“Man?” Anders snorted. “Hardly a man. He’s 17 years old.” 

“So I keep being told and yet it does nothing to deter me.” Malice flashed in Ripley’s eyes for a brief second. “Quite the contrary, in fact...” 

“Anna,” Anders slowly growled in a deep voice, “what are you planning?” 

“Nothing!” Ripley laughed, waving away his frown. “Such a suspicious old goat, aren’t you?” 

“I’m only curious, being an academic man, after all.” 

“Curious about what?” asked Ripley, side-eyeing the tutor with a cunning look that might befit a sly fox, “My plans? The answers to my questions? Or are you simply not ready to give up your boy just yet?”

Anders took a surprised step back. “What?” 

“Don’t try pulling the wool in my eyes, Professor. You’re jealous.” 

“Of you?” Anders spat. “Hardly.” 

“Percival isn’t your student anymore,” Ripley sang tauntingly, leaning closer to him and dropping her voice to a harsh whisper, “He’s mine. And I have plenty to teach him without your interference. I’m certain the Briarwoods appreciate your help and will be glad to accept you into their _family_ , as they like to call it, but just as you have your place in this arrangement, so too do I and my place is to lead the scientific investigation which begins with the son of the late Lord and Lady de Rolo.” She stepped back again and straightened up, lifting her nose into the air. “You have officially been relieved of his education and care and if you wish to speak with him, you will first have to obtain permission from the Briarwoods and from me. Are we on the same page?”

Anders searched her expression for a moment and then, gritting his teeth, nodded his head. 

“...Yes, I believe we are.” 

“Excellent,” Ripley smiled and, without looking, called over his shoulder, “And what are YOU doing, Mr Stonefell? Something equally as unproductive from the looks of things.”

Kerrion Stonefell, still stained red around his nose, had been watching the exchange with only a mild interest while he learnt against the wall. He pushed off it but didn’t approach once he heard Ripley address him. 

“Actually, I’m getting ready to go and station my men in preparation for taking the rest of the city,” he replied. “You two can either go and sleep or you can be entertained by the resistance that’s likely going to spring up when the city folks find out that we’ve redecorated the Dining Hall walls of Whitestone Castle with the innards of their former rulers.” 

“Such poetry, Kerrion,” Ripley chuckled, turning away from Anders and away from the entrance to the dungeons. 

“It is now _Sir_ Kerrion Stonefell, Doctor.” 

“Anna...” Anders quietly grumbled as the woman began to move away. 

“No, Byron,” Ripley sighed, like a long-suffering nanny. “Tomorrow, I’ll be with Percival and you will NOT be there. Don’t worry, though, I will be sure to fill you in with all the details if he talks.” 

“IF he talks,” Anders repeated, hurrying to catch up with Ripley and Stonefell. 

“Yes, well,” Ripley shrugged, “I don’t care _how_ much of a de Rolo he is, everyone has a breaking point. I’m aware I haven’t even begun to reach it yet. But I will.” She stopped once they reached a crossroads in the corridors and she grinned at the tutor. “Goodnight Professor Anders.”

Anders walked on with Stonefell and wouldn’t look at her. “Goodnight Doctor Ripley.”


	8. The Week Begins

Peeking out through the slit between the wall panels and panicking over the loudness of her heart and her breaths, Cassandra, with trembling knees, watched as various mercenaries went by. They ranged from Humans to Half-Orcs, male and female, all there with the sole purpose of murdering her family. 

She wished she were older and stronger and could fight like Julius so she could avenge her parents and her siblings. 

“Is that all?” suddenly barked a voice from out of sight. It was deep and gravelly and sounded terrifying. The one to whom the voice belonged lived up to those expectations as he marched into view.

Cassandra had never seen a Goliath before and she now knew she’d never forget what one so large and muscular looked like! The other cutthroats referred to him as Goran. His skin was dark grey and completely bald on top. 

“All that haven’t sworn loyalty to the Briarwoods,” answered another.

The Goliath blew through his nose like an angered bull. 

“Good. Stonefell says we’re moving through the city tonight and telling anyone smart enough to believe that the de Rolos died of disease. Then we’ll sort out those that might have something to say about the new government,” he said as he turned around. His voice was still louder but was growing distinctly quieter as he moved off down the hallway. “The bodies of the de Rolo family will be enough to shut them all up.” 

Fresh hot tears blurred Cassandra’s vision. 

“And what about the brat that’s alive?” asked another voice.

Cassandra felt her heart flip and she froze in horror. She had dared to hope that maybe they had assumed that she was dead as well and wouldn’t look for her... 

“Which one?” came Goran’s voice in reply and the young girl’s eyes widened. 

“Oh that’s right, there’s two of them... I meant the little prince down in the dungeons. What’s to become of him?” 

“Nothing that concerns us. He’s Ripley’s pet project. Now come on, let’s go - before Kerrion has all the fun.”

Cassandra slowly allowed her knees to bend and she quickly found herself on the floor in the dark wall compartment. The feeling in her heart was indescribable. She wasn’t sure who it was that had managed to escape death from the Briarwoods but that didn’t matter.

Rather than be completely alone in the world, Cassandra now and a reason to fight and survive.

She wasn’t the last de Rolo.

* * *

The only way that Percival could hazard a guess at the time was by Sylas’ greeting as he and Delilah paid their first of many visits. 

“And how is the Lord of the Castle faring this morning?” he smiled, holding out his hand to escort his wife who had laid her fingers delicately over his knuckles.

Percy was about to reply when his attention was taken by a group of Stonefell’s men who had followed them down as they forced their way into the neighbouring cell to retrieve the bodies of the dead de Rolos. 

“Wh-Where are you taking...?” 

“It’s purely for legal business,” Sylas answered him. “The rest of the city needs to be informed of the new situation.” 

“But don’t you worry yourself about that,” Delilah added with a warm smile. “The joys of being a Lord is that you can have other people do mundane jobs for you and dealing with the commoners is, without doubt, far too mundane for a young man of your status.”

Percival couldn’t focus very well without his glasses but so long as he could roughly keep an eye on where the Briarwoods and Ripley were standing, he felt confident in aiming his glares. 

“My status is currently that of a prisoner,” he mumbled. 

“Oh you sell yourself short, Percy,” said Delilah. “You are worth far more than that. Otherwise, you would be dead, wouldn’t you?” 

“I’m only alive because Pro-“ Percy stopped himself, his heart twisting again as he prevented himself from showing his old tutor any form of respect, “because _Anders_ told you do it.” 

Ripley smirked and started playing with her cuffs. “...He was right about him being a clever young thing...”

Delilah ignored her. “And what makes you believe that?” 

“Because you hardly know me,” replied Percy. He couldn’t feel his hands or legs shaking. “So how would you come to the conclusion that I was worth sparing?”

Delilah wrapped her fingers tighter over her husband’s hands. 

“It’s true that we hardly know you,” Sylas said. “Then again, you spent so much of your time squirrelled away in your own rooms that we didn’t see you all that often but, through word of mouth, I feel as though we’ve come to know you very well. It wasn’t just Anders that spoke highly of you, of course. Your mother and father once praised your accomplishments so much that we were, on occasion, thoroughly bored of you.” 

Percy found a spot on his knee to stare at. 

“...You don’t have to put up with me then. You can leave me alone. Go do those terribly mundane jobs that I’m far too important to do myself.” His breath caught painfully in his throat and he wanted to press his eyes shut. “...You just... leave me alone.” 

A long silence passed between them and as every second ticked by, Percy could only hope that the next sound he’d hear was the sounds of their footsteps walking away.

Instead, Sylas’ voice returned, deep and intoxicating. 

“I wasn't trying to humiliate you, you know. When I called you ‘Lord’,” he said. “In time, you may have opportunity to resume your position and keep your title. My wife and I are unable to bear our own children, but you-”

Percy couldn’t take it anymore. Being kept a prisoner in his own home was one thing but the thought of ever embracing the Briarwoods, the murderers who killed his family, as his new parents was enough to almost pull a scream from his lungs. His hands came up to his head and he pressed his ears tight, pulling his knees in even tighter to put up any form of shield. 

“...Very well,” the voice of Sylas, now distinctly more muffled but still audible, came through slowly. “Remain a dungeon rat here in your demoted state. I shall not be so polite when we next visit.” 

“All yours, Anna,” Delilah sighed and turned with her husband to leave.

Percy cradled his still sore shoulder, slumping over on his side and curling into a tight ball in his futile attempt to hide himself. He heard Ripley’s boots as she returned to him, leaning against the wall and crouching down to sit on the ground next to him, right by his head.

He didn’t move away. He was too tired to do that. 

“Now that’s done, we can talk more informally,” Ripley said and let out a long sigh before rubbing her palms together excitedly and going into a gushing rant. “Ah, where to begin...? I found your workshop and I’ve read some of your journals and looked through your sketchbooks and I am just... well, I am simply _beyond_ impressed. Just really- And you came up with some of those ideas yourself, yes? I mean, the mechanisms and the detail you go into are just marvellous, Percival. It’s all so precise and delicate! I could have spent hours pouring through everything and it has been a long time since I’ve found someone’s work worth my attention. What I love is how deliciously complex you like to make things. You see, I’m more into the simple things. Function over aesthetics, you know? So I think, between us, we could produce...” Ripley stopped, her eyes shining as she beamed down at the young noble and ran a hand through his messy hair, ruffling it up. “We could make the future, you and I. Imagine that... I digress, of course. The Briarwoods made a list of questions that need answers and I suppose I ought to get those out of the way before get _too_ personal with one another. Personal with Percival. Ha! I like that. If I ever write a book, I’ll make that the title.”

Percy had stiffened under her touch and he hugged himself more tightly. 

“...Go away.” His voice was softly muffled. 

“So, firstly, this castle is... how old?” Ripley began her questioning. “Anders mentioned you liked history so I’m expecting you know the answer to this.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Come, come, let’s not be childish. I know you ARE technically a child but we can pretend otherwise. In fact, I AM pretending. It makes my future ideas less, ah, controversial, I suppose. How old is the castle? It was built by your ancestors, yes? Were you always ‘de Rolos’?” 

“...I don’t know.” 

“Percival, I can keep working away at that shoulder of yours if you’d prefer. Which would be a shame because I don’t want to damage it so much that you can never use it again.” 

“We...” He steadied his breathing and answered her question: “Yes.” 

“And the Sun Tree in the centre of town? That was there before?” 

“...Yes.” 

“And when your forefathers built Whitestone around it, were they aware of the ley- Percival don’t you _dare_ ignore me!” She immediately pressed hard fingers into his scalp, making him yelp. “You can’t just end our conversation whenever you feel like it. That’s rude behaviour for a young lordling like yourself. Sit up and talk to me properly.” 

“Leave me alone...” Percy groaned, tucking his chin further into his chest. 

“How old is the castle?” Ripley repeated and she heard Percy’s sigh of defeat. 

“I don’t...” he was about to say, but then seemed to change his mind. He was clearly wanting the foul woman to go away by obediently giving her an answer. “Around... Around 200 years. Maybe more.” 

“Let’s fall back on an easier question,” she said, pulling off one of her glove to examine her nails. “How many de Rolos are there?” 

Percy’s breath hitched once more and he trembled, knowing that the number of de Rolos had dropped since last night. 

“...All right...” Anna huffed irritably. “Are you going to talk about what this is?”

There was a dull thud as something hard hit the straw and Percival cracked open an eye to peep over his arm. A cubit length’s away from him was a chunk of white, almost opaque, stone which shone like an opal in the light of the torches.

Percival of course recognised the precious material that belonged to his city. **_His_** city, he thought bitterly. 

“...That’s rock.” 

“Percival...” 

“Ah, no no!” Percy cried as he felt Ripley’s hand seize his hair and grip hard. His own hands came up to try and release the hold but all he could do was feebly pull at her fingers which did nothing. “No, it’s... Stop, please! You’ve done enough. It’s whitestone. Our city... It’s what the city is named after. It- It’s the stone, the ore, that everything is built on... mined and quarried and traded. F-Father says that... he says that’s out largest export.”

The grip in his hair loosed a fraction. “So it’s valuable?” 

“It- It’s mostly used by arcane practitioners,” Percy sniffed, tears of pain welling up. “For everyone else, it’s just pretty quartz or opal-like stone.” 

“Mostly used by arcane practitioners, you say?” Anna let go of his hair and picked up the whitestone, turning it over and over in her hands as she gazed at it with interest. “Is that due to it’s mild arcane aura?”

Percy feet his face crease into a glare but he hadn’t the stomach to direct it at his tormentor. He bit his tongue and went on shaking. Everyone who dealt with whitestone knew the ore was used to channel magic and amplify it, like metal channeled lightning. Used correctly, the stone could even stabilise and help direct certain spells for greater control. But it still wasn’t precise and Percival often used to think that the ore really ought to be refined to be made more effective. 

He heard Anna root around in her jacket and then, a moment later, heard her turning the pages of a book. With a jolt, Percy immediately turned to look at her and found, to his horror, that she had his old sketchbook in her hands while his glasses hung off her pinky finger.

Percival disappointed his ancestors by swearing under his breath. He had casually made a brief mention of the whitestone in that book when he was jotting down potential materials to use - just a small pencilled note to the side where no-one would see. No-one besides Ripley and Anders, of course. 

“So,” Ripley smiled, no doubt reading that little note, “how would one go about refining the ore?”

Percy was angry with himself and with Ripley for thinking along his wavelengths. 

“You’ll use that knowledge to hurt a lot of people.”

Anna leant over with the hand that held his glasses and used a free finger to stroke Percy’s nose in an affectionate manner. 

“Not something you need to worry about, sweetheart.” She snapped the sketchbook closed - sharp - and put Percy’s glasses on the ground where the whitestone had been. “What you _should_ worry about is that the Briarwoods will want results before long and I’m feeling a little cheated; I was promised an intelligent conversation and a bit of fun and you’ve given me nothing of that yet.”

Percy gazed into Anna’s eyes and felt the chill of danger radiating from her as she smiled away at him. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked. If there was one thing he could recognise in an expression like that, it was a sense of purpose. There was a plan brewing behind her eyes and he might have been able to actually see it had his own reflection not been in the way. 

“Well,” she replied, “you and I are going to sit. And we’re going to talk some more and I...” Ripley’s sharp nail was suddenly underneath Percy’s chin, pushing his face up and digging in hard enough to break the skin. “...will have you singing before noon.”


End file.
